the loss of our maple tree

 

the trees, our elders

I wear a t-shirt with old great trees on it:

“Respect Your Elders” written below the trees,

redwoods elder me into awe,

their ancient truths drop me to my knees,

I mourn our logging them as if they are but things,

in the last five years I have lost

a great beech tree I have known all my life

and a great tulip poplar tree I have known most of my life,

both wounded by rot and fungus,

both killed by destroying fire and wind,

I am old enough to have planted a Chinese chestnut tree

that is now big enough for bears to climb

and feast on its sweet nuts, 

reprising the world of a century ago,

I am old enough to have transplanted a cedar tree

tall enough now so that a huge bear two months ago

could use it to scratch and rub itself with enthusiasm,

all this musing comes to me because our large maple tree,

pushed from the vertical by Hurricane Fran 25 years ago

finally could no longer hold against gravity and rot,

a few days ago, just as the night finished claiming the day,

it softly let go and sank gently to the ground,

prostrating itself to the southwest

as if to do as little damage to our garden as it could,

the tire swing I made for our boys,

and enjoyed for many years by visiting kids,

laid onto the grass as if to rest,

our boys played with this fine old tree,

their childhood and its presence inextricably linked together,

now its leaves start to change,

the fall precipitating Autumn,

the surrounding forest encircles what was once a hub,

and now is a hole into the sky,

it feels as if the maple was once a center

around which all else circled,

here in the East enough rain comes to allow our elders

to reach to the sky and thus to block the heavens from our easy view,

our yard, our home, transforms,

and I want to both embrace the new and honor the old,

the ginkgo we planted reaches toward the sky

just to the east of the maple’s hole,

October will release the gold within its leaves,

and our hearts will follow its torch toward heaven,

while we also feel the hole within of elders passing.

by Henry H. Walker

August 28, ‘21