When days are long and I seek solace, there is a place where both child and man may reach...

The drumming of slight passes, climbing furtively my limbs, reaching my crown, are like the sweet rush of a whisper from Heaven. Yet, I am surrounded by earth, men and sky. Though we three live together, we do not speak. However, we are kindred, brothers as living beings.

I am part of the earthy space beneath me, rooted deep. Although I seem to not move limb when I awaken from my frosty sleep―where I hide from chaotic chatter or the rumble of traffic beneath me, for I have come to settle here in a joyous place―beneath tree. It is where thought and time merge to rejuvenate a broken spirit that may near, so that from it may be drawn from within it poison thoughts and rancid breath, to replenish with both fair air and vital quietude.

Oh, how comeliness graces these twisting twigs, reaching branches where their great limbs embrace life and space. And all things they do hear, see and know of. Like, there are times when beneath tree, I sit there. I allow it to wrestle my own broken spirit and to gather me up into it to vanish down within its very dark bark, there together, and I like child I am hidden away from sight, from man.

While I join in its silence, curving about its meaty bark and trunk, speechless, they strengthen me. I then become immovable, rooted well, rooted deep. But then the rush returns to awaken me from my frosty sleep. My limbs uproot themselves, so thenceforth I may return once again, to walk among men and to encounter the day.

Copyright © 2003 USA by Barbara Lois Hurt. All Rights Reserved.