Down the Hill

Some of my old poetry was unearthed this weekend, so I took a little nostalgia trip down poetry lane. I had forgotten about another tree loss that occurred when the remnants of Hurricane Floyd swung by our place years ago. The photo that spawned this piece is long gone, but maybe you can paint one for yourselves:

_________________

Floyd, swaggering down the hill,
bragging his prowess and
arrogance — Storm with Attitude.
A red maple dowager, unable
to resist his mile-a-minute dance,
weeps beside the road,
buckled under his
heavy breath and windy embrace.

Collapsed
on hand and knee,
face down in a pool
of leaves
cried off in her falling.
Making obeisance,
awaiting the transformation
that comes in death.

Surrender. Atom by atom,
death and rebirth,
here an ant, there a bat,
down the hill
a baby red maple …

and Floyd?
spent by his own laughter
his children nourish this birthing:
here an ant, there a bat,
down the hill
a baby red maple …

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