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.
Healing.
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,
Following,
Following,
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
I
I
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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