Cherry Tree
Today I mourn
70 years
ring by ring
grasping at river rock
Breaking through the impenetrable remains of the Missoula flood
All the while
reaching up to the sky
As if in victory
Never belying the struggle below
More whole than I will ever be
in and of and towering over the earth
Lovingly celebrating
Or at least tolerating in regal composure
our climbing touching hanging pulling picking
Cats and kids and ropes and swings
And bearing fruit
And giving shade
It is the shade I will miss the most
And the beauty
I will miss that too
Sitting, standing staring
Neck bent to aching but unable to look down
endless changing songs for my eyes
melody of leaf and branch and wind
backbeat of sun and cloud and sky
Gone now is your canopy
Your crown containing worlds
Worlds I could not reach
Worlds I will never know
You are too tall
Were
too tall
And now your reign
has been reduced to a pile of logs
Cord wood
In remembrance I will make a table
But surely your shelter and beauty
Your oxygen and grace
Deserve more
White snow blossomed every spring
a delight and somehow, always a surprise
As if we didn't know the buds would come again
We too preoccupied to remember that spring always comes
Too concerned with computers and carpools
To know for sure what day the flowers always come
But they came
And all the while the crows calling too loudly
from your heights
The raccoons, too
And squirrels
And bees
flickers, jays and waxwings,
Now where will they live
70 years ago someone built a house
Upon this ancient flood plain
In the wake of a burst ice dam
On the wreckage left behind
Geology warps time
In ways human minds cannot fathom
Even tree minds cannot
But they are more intimate than me with the
Stones carried by the ancient torrent
seeking the water that lies between
Hubris cares little for geologic reality
We make and build
And yet there was at least
some
forethought
To plant a tree
Was it the pit from a sweet afternoon treat
Set carefully with love into the rocky ground
Or was it the haphazardness of crows
And not man at all
Eventually, there was tending
care
hope
A dream that one day there would be fruit
And shade
I only tended for a decade
With dreams of tree houses
And meditation havens floating above the ground
Sitting like a mountain
Watching the volcanos
Pining for Loo Wit
Before me there were others
What tree dreams did they have
Countless others
I wonder what befell the Cowlitz, the Clackamas
In order for me to be here mourning
this
one
tree
How small this is
Compared to all the loss
all the trees
the forests
birds
It is a wonder anything grows at all
Given the tear saturated soil
Yet photosynthesis carries on
and there must be, too, some kind of
Inexplicable magic
It is the only way I can reconcile
The beauty and the horror
Of being alive on this land
Magic
sweet, tart cherries fell
Every year
Without my doing anything
Inexplicable magic
Grace
fruit for me and my children
We were not deserving
But we were thankful
My gratitude now has been transformed by
Chainsaws and stump grinders
Into grief
And all I can do is plant again.
—Josh Nusbaum, August 10, 2020