I touch my hand to another's skin,
A weathered bark that draws me in.
These living tomes of years, of strain.
Of sunlight, cold, and nature's reign.
They do not speak in words I know,
I feel them through the sways of bough.
Their leaves drift loose from time, erases,
While mossy grins grow on ancient faces.
Above, the Eastern Whipbirds cry,
Dappling pointed songs across the sky.
Each note held close by forest's floor,
Sung to trees who've heard before.
As I stand in their calming shade,
I think of homes the branches made.
Of critters curled in roots below,
And owls who watch the moonlight glow.
These pillars who hold more life than me,
They've watched us all pass silently.
Just to be among these sacred things,
I sense my name within their rings.
Mossyelfie's profile: https://www.pi.fyi/u/mossyelfie
--There's a lot of calming memories I have of our tree friends, 'specially as a kid. But sometimes when I try to meditate, I think of the feeling of a specific memory I have of walking through the bush on a school camp trip in Year 8. I'd hated almost everything about that trip except the walks we'd go on (also the unironic awful physiological and psychological trials and tribulations of being a tween to contend with).
The rustles of leaves, the forest's scents, the wind that hit my skin being carved by the trees' steadfast paths in place, the scuffs of so many boots stopping to hear the calls of Eastern Whipbirds (plus what I now reckon were Grey Shrike Thrushes too), taking a breath in the shade of the trees from the Aussie Summer heat to just be. It was like all the uncomfortableness I'd felt never existed in the first place, and I couldn't feel the sweat on and of me.
-- Eastern Whipbirds:
https://youtu.be/Bf9GVLuFo1Y?si=qUsOzqPr38Xwsi58&t=11
I really love this one, and your story for it too. Your story makes me think of a school trip I took to Kanab, in Southern Utah, I think, grade 9, before I got booted from that snooty private school. It was the water & the sand, for me. I’d seen a different kind of nature back in Arizona, before my ma moved us to Utah, when I was 9, I think. The dunes down in Kanab were really the crazy bit for me, petulant Anakin Skywalker vibes temporarily suspended to marvel at them & how they flowed. The actual creeks cooled the air & made sound, and were full of life that the bio teacher filled us in on during that camp-out nature tour, but it was the desolate section of land that drew me in, for whatever reason.
ReplyDeleteThat doesn’t relate to trees, I guess it relates to the trip, but on trees: I think of the green & weirdly bare ones around my family’s home in Arizona, and then the probably coniferous ones up in the snowy mountains of Park City, Utah, and the needly whatevers in the yard across the street from us, back in Salt Lake City, the mild part in the hills where I said deer would sometimes come through (and eat our roses right off of the bush, nom).
I remember hearing about the Redwoods of California in songs, and stories. I thought I’d get around to seeing them sometime, but I’d always forget about it whenever I’d pass through for family, or fun, or whatever. I might still see them someday, but I’m betting it’ll be some time before I do. But, that’s ok, and I’ll look forward to when it happens.
I have some trees & other flora (& fauna, and flowing blue sky reflected in nearby water) very near me in a green space of sorts the city thought to pop up. I reckon I’ll have a lil walk through there when I go out for my errands today. I’ll think of your poem, and you, when I do.
(Also, the Eastern Whipbird sounds so cool, and the way its call tails, or kind *shuts* off, it’s like I can see why it’s named the Eastern “Whip”-bird. Or maybe that etymology’s wrong. Something to look up later.
It’s mostly grackles where I am now, and the seagulls in Salt Lake were closer to the eponymous lake. But also maybe near pools, stealing french fries, sometimes.)
Thank you for sharing your memories with me! I felt the warmth of sand and the coolness of creek water as I read it, the sound. I do wonder how the feel and smell differs with different grains of sand, different water, different detritus therein, geographically. And the trees you’ve visited between Arizona and Utah, their shifting shapes, your shifting through landscapes.
ReplyDeleteThe pull towards the desolate, I get that. For me, when I feel it, it’s easier to catch the land listening back, or imagine it, I reckon. An intimidating, yet open expanse. I missed that pull when I was in Western Australia, we didn’t end up visiting Nambung National Park - The Pinnacles.
The deer eating your roses back in Utah makes me smile (nom). Something about nature, the wild, not heeding our foray into our domesticity and gardening.
(Seagulls stealing fries does seem to be an international constant, good to know that’s such a shared experience lol)
The Eastern Whipbird’s call (your etymology is right!), the drawn out whistle, then sharp whip sound. To me, that’s not the end! My favourite part is after the crack. It’s like it softens into this melodic echoing sound of a water droplet reverberating. That’s what I think of anyway, what I picture in my noggin (:
(I do think it’s funny that it’s the dude Whipbird’s going all out for a mating call. I don’t know, maybe if I was an Eastern Whipbird Shell I’d give those males a chance.)
Even though you left your comment a month ago, it still feels like a conversation between places. I guess metaphorically and literally and geographically. Same Earth, different accents of nature (and actual different accents of us).
I hope you see many sands and creeks and trees and birds in Kiwi land, add them to your repertoire of memories, into your lovely words. And I do hope you still get to see Redwoods, one day.