A Good Life - Dec 12 2023

 

A Good Life

Dec 12 2023

I didn't hear it fall.

Crashing

through the branches of its neighbours.

The flutter of wings

as nesting birds

exploded into the air.

And the hollow thud

as it hit hard

and bounced a couple of times,

before rocking to a heavy stop

and finally settling.

Followed by silence

as the chattering squirrels

stopped cold

and alarmed animals froze,

pricking up their ears

and narrowing their eyes.

It must have been at least a 100, that tree.

I should have known

it was rotting from the inside;

the stunted leaves, turning prematurely,

all the holes

from busy insects

boring into soft punky wood.

It was a stately tree,

generous with its shade

and higher than the rest.

One I thought would always be there;

as permanent as bedrock,

as determined as the river

that even in winter

never stops running.

How I'll miss it.

My entire life

spent with that tree,

taken for granted

until it was gone.

We counted the rings

on the shattered trunk

as best we could;

the narrow ones for hard years

that make the densest wood,

and the wide ones

when springs were wet and summers long.

Turns out, we were wrong.

The 100-year tree

was really 150.

A good life,

longer

than any man could hope for.

And now, dead

it will return to the soil,

saplings will grow

in the opening

and flourish in the light.

A useful end,

and a worthy one

for such a dearly loved tree.

I can only hope

to be as well remembered.

To leave behind

as fine a legacy.