The trees are leaving. After our argument last night, I
saw several tumble. It’s dangerous business, standing in a forest when the
trees begin to fall. New ones have been growing. I could see that with some
satisfaction. When they get tall like the others, they will help shelter us in
the cool forest of our love. But they, like our love, need shade from the
powerful masculine sun. And I just saw several of the big ones tumble. Their
fall catapults dust and caterpillars and a few small animals into the air.
I stand there. Feet frozen into stumps.
Standing in the forest, I look up, wondering what it
would be like if these trees fell, too. Burning sun. Ok, I need sun to grow,
just like them. But the burning sun…
In my mind, I imagine this patch of land before you came.
It was barren. The horizon continually beckoned me. I chased it like a lion
after prey, relentless. But with you, a forest grew up. The horizon hid. I
stayed here and made a home with you. My breath came home, too. I became
acquainted with ants and squirrels and other things that don’t wander like a
man being chased and chasing at the same time.
I’m a man, and have my histories. If I know one thing,
it’s that if I see a horizon, I am drawn to it steel to magnet. My legs and
pack, oversized, have rested in our forest. I almost lost them, but now my eyes
locate them. Just in case. Against a stump. And then my eyes focus ahead,
alert, searching for blue sky level ahead instead of vertical above, where we
saw it together, laying on our backs, love heavy and wet in the air.
The smell of rich forest soil hangs in the air. I feel the earth holding my soles.
Another tree falls.
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