My Oak at the farm has fallen. It is and always has been my favorite because it is home to a Mimosa growing out of its trunk and a magnolia in the V of its top branches, I've watched that little magnolia reach up out of the bough of this pin oak for ten years. I know exactly the summer it was born. Exactly how long it's grappled with its decaying cradle. The oak has been there since my great Uncle Henry's time. Around 1900. That's the Mimosa towering over the top of the tree. That's the Magnolia peeping out of the V in the center of the photo.
1. Nothing stays the same
2. Everything lives on the back of everything else
3. This is me
4. This is you
5. We are the same.
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2 comments:
Ah, me, Laura. This oak, its life, its "sharing," its death ... it's poetry. I think it's a chapbook (at least) of poetry. I understand your email perfectly now.
Lovely but sad photo with perfect summary.
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