 Restless Sunday Loud whine announces the chainsaw. The tree is coming down today. Crack of branch breaking Then crashing fall. Ear splitting grinding To dust. Then silence. Dust does not speak. |  Feeling sad today, Sad for me, sad for you, Sad for neighbors who Insist on their way Sad for hardscape Valued over landscape. Sad for a loved tree, That is no more to be. Ground into dust as will You and I By and by. |
| How does it feel To hear the tree-- The very one you planted Fifty years ago, Watched grow, Laughed at the baby squirrels Scampering among its branches, Listened to the screeching jay, Enjoyed the shade and privacy It provided-- How does it feel, I ask, To hear it sawed, screaming To the ground, To hear its branches Crack and fall, Until only a silent stump remains-- How does it feel? And who cares? But you and I? | Tree Felling Saw whines then put-puts to a stop Branch crackles, clunks as it falls Grinder motors up, growling Grates and grinds the wood. Then chuck-chunk as it ends. Birds are silent. Monterey Pine The tree housed Squirrels who argued Noisily with the jays. Songbirds eating insects An occasional hawk. Where will they Go now? |
 | Satisfied Neighbor I now can clearly see The space that house a tree. The tree that blocked my Legal right to a view. Caused me many a sigh. Oh no, they now can see My kitchen, son and me. I guess I'll have to find, To cut off their new view, A brand new window blind. |
| The Old Man's Lament The tree is cut. Down to a stump. Its sawdust hauled To the dump. The tree I planted With my own hands Fifty years ago On my own land. I sit hunched In a sunny spot On the Persian rug Lost in thought. Why must it be so? I think and I try To understand but I can only cry. Last Tree Standing The old man looks for his pine tree From the raw stump averts his eyes But looks down the steep slope to see A tall thin tree, and then he sighs. And he says, I planted that fir. As I did all the others too. And I remember as they were I planted and watched as they grew. This tall tree is the last to stand, Still growing, reaching for the sky. I too, stand alone on my land, As I await my time to die. Cut down, together we will go Will fall to the ground, you and I. But from your sawdust and my ash , Our spirits will rise to the sky. And may we both find in new skies, In the beyond, another place Where spirits with souls grown wise Reside in peace, goodwill and grace. all poems above are by MW all photos by MW The Living Christmas Tree The family decided to buy a living Christmas tree this year. The father, mother and three children went to the nursery instead of a tree farm and picked out a pine with spreading branches. It didn’t really look like a Christmas tree but it was suited to the area’s climate. They brought it home, lugged it inside and decorated it. The father made sure it was watered properly over the next few weeks. He had ideas for this tree. When Christmas was over, this tree was not discarded. Its decorations were removed and it was put outside. There it grew through the winter and Spring and then Fall. In December it was again brought inside. It was not too big for that yet. And the next year as well. But the third year, the father tried to lift the tree and proclaimed, “This tree is too big to bring inside this year. It is too heavy for me to lift and its branches are too broad to fit in the corner.” “Then we will have to get rid of it and buy a cut tree this year,” his wife said. “A cut tree, yes, but we will not throw out this one. It can stay outside.” They bought a cut tree and decorated it. But the father took a strand of lights and put them on the tree outside. He had grown fond of that tree. He put a silver star atop it. Every year after that, the man decorated the outside tree by himself each Christmas. Then one year, he decided it was too big to be in a pot. So he took it out and planted it in one corner of the garden. It was now in an out of way spot and couldn’t be seen from the house but he still decorated it. And as it grew, he continued to decorate it. Soon, he had to use a ladder, then the ladder became too short and the man hired a company to string the lights and put up the star. Neighbors began to remark upon the beautiful Christmas tree. And they even began to notice it in the off season, chatting with the father about the tree and the animals it housed. People from down the hill and even across the Bay could see it and an article appeared in the local newspaper. The tree was famous. But there was one person who did not like the tree. The neighbor to the side. As the tree had grown, it began to block her kitchen window. She especially disliked it at Christmas when she had to look at the lights. She began to brood. She asked the family to cut out a few branches so she could would get more light into her kitchen. They did so reluctantly. Then she asked them to cut a few more branches so she could see her view. View of what, they wondered, but they complied. Each year, she asked for more branches to be cut. The children grew and left home. The mother died and only the dog kept the man company. He found himself a companion and now they were a threesome. That year, the neighbor said, “It is not enough to cut a branch here and there. I need my view and my sun. It is my right. That tree must go.” The father said no. The neighbor insisted and spoke to the son. “If you don’t comply, I will have to sue you,” she said. “Look at the roots. They are growing under my steps.” The son, who was now in charge, agreed. He did not want to be sued. He told his father, who said no. That was his tree, that he had planted, with all the memories of Christmasses past. But the son went ahead anyway. He hired a company and one day, he informed his father that the tree would be cut the next day. The man was awakened the next morning by the whine of saws. A crash of a major branch. Then the shuddering grind of the wood chipper. He did not go out to look. Instead he found a patch of sunlight on the rug and sat in the patch, warming himself. He sat there a long time, rubbing his head, lost in thought and memory. His dog came to lie beside him. His companion sat with him as well. Finally, when all was quiet, she ventured outside. The men were just finishing their work She spoke a silent good-by to the tree, now just a stump, and picked up a branch with pinecones attached. She went inside to the old man and sat beside him and the dog on the rug in the sun. When Christmas rolled around, the companion took the branch, tied a bow around it, added some lights and placed it on the table. She placed two wrapped packages beside it. “Our Christmas tree,” she told the old man. He smiled wanly. But on Christmas Eve, she noticed him touching the pinecone and fingering the lingering moss. She went over to him. “Merry Christmas,” she said, kissing the top of his head. And the man, the woman and the dog sat in companionable silence on the sofa, the lights of the branch twinkling before them. MW 11/21 |  Deodar Cedar. Tree of the gods The Paradox of Life The living presence of the past Is helpful guide and ready warning. But the present is more than is and was: A meld that houses and spawns the future, A presence of life in its full richness, All too is constant flux, yet nothing passes. A oneness in multipllicity And a timelessness in time. A paradox beyond our ken But a solace and comfort in our bewilderment. Blush and Blight Wee peaches high 'Twixt earth and sky, No leaves in sight, A swath of blight. A sturdy tree, Of sickness free But weeks ago Has ceased to grow. Leaves curled and fell, Fruit stopped its swell, And now but blanches On its bare branches. Ours is a lot That differs not, All blush and breath Then blight and death. Facts of Life Fish that are not hooked Are fish that spawn and swarm. Trees that are not cut Are trees that grow and seed. Game that is not shot Is game that lives and thrives. Such are the facts of life, Such are the facts ignored. -JM  Píccola says:I do not look up. I content myself with what is at hand. The grass is mine, not the trees. |