Trees

The tree, which I’ll call Her

is reaching the end of Her natural life.

Limbs that once were spread apart,

have thickened so much,

that a hand has barely enough room

to pass between and

touch the spot,

where in a tangled bush

the sweetest fruit is found.

Or was.

I watched Her grow

fom tiny tube stock.

Witnessed Her flowering.

And Her fruiting.

Branches lithe and supple then,

moving with the breeze.

Her beauty, bent the knees

of men that found Her.

Men hungry for Her fruit.

But,she was not given to promiscuity.

Oh no, Her fruit would ripen only

for the man who knew

how to peel it

how to eat it properly.

A gentle man,

a man still growing

into his own skin.

A man who would tend,

water,prune and love Her

for many years.

Now she is weakening.

Pests eat into Her cambium layer.

Decay crawls unkindly and unrelentingly across Her outer skin.

Her leaves once thick and green

are browning now, dried and curling

with large gaps between.

Thinning,ever thinning.

She has not the strength to bring water or nutrients to her extremities.

Capillary action has ceased.

I watch as age does what age does.

Yet I still love that tree.

Still hanker for the taste of fruit

she once provided.

There is still a place to rest under

Her remaining branches.

Mottled light,mottled leaves,

mottled me,sitting Buddha like

breathing in the oxygen she provides.

No more growing for Her.

No more growth rings

for selfish lumberjacks to saw through.

And I

weep for my loss.

My tears hit the ground where tiny offshoots

now are growing.

Nature recycles everything.

I smile at the thought

Humans are only highly evolved trees.