The Emotions of Trees

Who knew trees communicate —
that Douglas firs sooth white alder,
and fallen tulip poplars
nourish yellow birch seedlings
at their breasts — nurse logs their name.

Both incense cedar and madrone
have confided that all trees admire,
even envy, coastal and interior
redwoods, but avoid that needy,
millennia old, bristlecone pine, who
thinks every minute is a new day.

Once, while hiking in Oglethorpe
County, two water oaks asked me
to join their healing circle for a
distant cousin, a Black Tupelo
with terminal heart rot. So strange,
a minyan for trees is only three.

Over time, I’ve watched our local
black walnut shake with laughter as
English ivy first tiptoed over
its roots — only to tremble anxiously
two years later as the vine started
to choke its crown, thieving sap and light.

And the selfishness of mistletoe
leaves me speechless.

Trees demand so much intimacy,
branches straining outwards — secrets
shedding from every leaf.

Many times I hike back to the car little
more than a half-filled husk.

Wild Roof Journal 19, March 2023