Bark. 

Thick and briny and rough,
the perfect shield,
protection that keeps out
storms and love equally as well.

Effective.
Even artistic in it’s own way,
textured and versatile,
and ever present.

Through it, no evil shall penetrate,
but also through it,
no fresh green leaves will grow,
no flowers will dance in the wind,
no seeds will fall to the ground in a windy dance.

And someday, a storm will come
and rip you from your roots
and there will be nothing.

What then?

About this poem.

Don’t read too much into this bit of verse, it’s written to the tree in the photograph, not a person in particular. But we do all know people so self protective that they are closer to death than life. And how sad is that? How very sad.

The picture was taken yesterday, in Pawlet, VT.

Tom