of Ents, and lesser mortals

of Ents, and lesser mortals
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Today, I walk through woods
wondering if the trees feel the passage of time.
Like me, they have the potential to live for centuries,
but few, sprouted these days, will outlive their 3 score and ten.

All but the oaks have dropped their leaves, and stand
bare in the winter sunlight.
The maples, hickories, locusts, sycamores,
quietly stand bare beneath the light blue,
ready to rest through the long, cold winter.

But the Oaks still hang on. Branches
full of brown, withered leaves. They won’t
give up until the new green buds push the
last dead leaves off in the spring.

Today, I am an old oak,
feeling taller, more solid, and stronger than I am, but
fearful nonetheless.
I’ll pretend not to know that the very rains
that nourish me can loosen my foothold.
A strong wind can push me off balance and cause
me to pull up my own roots.
If I am stubborn enough to keep my feet,
it can snap me off clean and lay me down.

In feigned wisdom and immortality I’m
reluctant to let go, suspicious of rest,
angry at dormancy, impatient with acorns.

I stand in defiance of winter, nature’s Sabbath.
I pretend I’ll be the same
tomorrow as
today.
But look at me,
in need of a rest,
and a spring of
rebirth.