Trembling Aspen
Nov 26 2023
Of course the trees are alive.
Trembling aspen
with their dancing leaves,
weeping willow
crying without tears.
How we name them
is how we see the world;
breathing life
into the inanimate,
sentience
into the senseless.
Projecting ourselves
into all there is.
The teddy bear
with the threadbare fur
that had turned a dirty yellow
I wouldn't, for years, let go of.
The car I christened
computer I yelled at.
The walls with ears
and seas without remorse.
But the trees do live
and I wonder what they're crying for.
Is it the lost Eden, a world despoiled?
Or simply physics;
leaves, quivering in the wind,
branches
maximizing sunlight?
Here, the aspen are plentiful.
They grow fast, die young.
But in the prime of life
appear unconcerned with death,
their green and silver leaves
dancing joyfully
in any kind of wind.
They make a loud rustling sound
that seems to shimmer,
like tiny bits of glass
tinkling as they fall.
Who knows what inner life
they might have.
Could we even recognize
such a different way of being?
Who would even think
to look?
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