Sunday, July 28, 2013

THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN MAPLES


Hall of the Mountain Maples
Dearest Readers,
There is a stretch of dirt road in Peacham Vermont that excites me. It’s often damp and dark, and marked by one point perspective that is draws me in. Along each side of the road stands a row of very old, maple trees ready to do a square dance or salute my entrance. I feel a kinship with their effort in standing tall despite the ravages of weather and aging. I view them as friends and kindred spirits–women with something sweet inside a rugged outer beauty.




THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN MAPLES
This is the Hall of the Mountain Maples
Ancient keepers of the stretch of dirt
That runs from Ha’Penny brook to Mack’s Mountain Road.
Beware their brawny beauty and gnarly hide.
Such courage could crush a tender chest.

This is the Colonnade of Persistence and Impermanence,
Of Staying Alive and Dying Slowly.
Of Faithfulness and Mutability.

Mute and mighty sentinels–
Look at you. Wrinkled torsos
Gouged and gaping,
Disemboweled, sliced open, pockmarked,
Pigeon holed, yet–
Still. You stand with crumbling bones,
Tossing up at least one verdant arm
As proof that this is not surrender.

You are trees. I am an old woman.
I understand what you are doing.

2 comments:

  1. Wonderful wonderful images of these ancient maple trees! You have really captured their spirits! I love the concept of "faithfulness" and "mutability"--and the "verdant arms" that are proof of not surrendering!

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