A young Canadian apple tree in blossom: A poem

Once I began doing the tree conversation art work and I had completed the first five I felt almost all of the trees on the property reaching out asking me to do this with them. I responded and  one day I went to sit with an apple tree in blossom.  (I was aiming to work with trees a minimum of 80 years old).

This apple tree was probably about 25 years old so quite a bit younger than my ideal minimum age for a tree. I began the work, and had only a limited amount of time to work. At one point the little apple tree expressed dislike of the shade of  red I had used. She was insisting that I find the perfect shade of red. It was so interesting to feel that the tree had a preference that was so particular. I was not able or willing to spend more time at that particular moment. It was this that made me wonder if the trees were having a new experience. Almost as if they were discovering what it feels like to make art!


These are my roots.
The trunk, well it twists and bends
Sometimes smooth.
Sometimes rough.
I branch,
A thousand and one branches each day
(Velut Arbor Ita Ramus)
I remember the motto of my school
A memory of being the Twig.
I am following on
Led from the delicate pink apple blossom of my youth
Towards the leaf.
Now, at the place where two become one,
I am married
two into one,
Until I reach the trunk
Which leads me down
Towards the rich dark earth
And penetrating surfaces.
I plunge into moist, fragrant living truth
Then I go off spreading and choosing
The point where I must divide
And I am a mother
And there I am again
Two where I had been One
Until soon enough
I am thousands
And millions
Of places where I drink in mystery
I breathe what everyone thought was stone.
Everything is possible
And nothing can
Separate me from life.
My father dies and
This is how
I am tree,
Where I’ve learned to befriend the trees,
Where the Tree of Life and I
are one.

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