That Solitary Maple

There is an amazing maple tree that stands behind the house. A tree that I wish I could hear its story. It has been here a long time – As the fields turned to forest, who chose you to be one of the trees to stay? Who thought you were pretty amazing and planted the lily of the valley and daffodils at your base? What about the snowdrops – have they always been there?

But on the other side of things, who left a chain and a white wire wrapped loosely around your branches for long enough that you could actually accept them as a part of you? You seem healthy and undisturbed by the unnatural additions to your physique. I could attempt to remove them but they are soaked into your core and make you who you are. I enjoy you just the way you are.  (Isn’t that true for all of us?)

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I was looking at some memories left by my grandfather and found this – I think he was a poet at heart. A nice reminder that Spring will be here soon enough.

That Solitary Maple
Sweet, fresh air surrounds my being
A robin’s throlling I can hear
And I know I shall be seeing
Many signs that spring is near.

My attention has been captured
By a thing this fragrant morn
Yes, a thing that has been natured
It’s a Maple on the lawn.

First I saw its barren branches.
Beneath it, everything was mud.
Now its dry where the robin prances
And the trees fling out their buds.

They enlarge and slowly open
Then they burst and turn to green
And the maple is awakened
From its long drawn, happy dream.

by Charles Leo Michaud, Jr.

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