Tree

TREE Large thick with the offerings of a generous soil your branches spread like a genealogy of religions tripping wild breezes weaving sun and air to clothe the fields. Your identity was sure, individual. Your shadow was largest among cedars and pines. You were hippie when summer rushed away like a skittish kitten. Winter spears were harmless to your bare courage. While my friends attended Sunday School learning to ask unanswerable questions those proofs of things higher than themselves I played in your fortress of shade. You were my favourite tree. We cast fantasies in the grass; I built castles and you occupied them with invaders from your boughs. (You were there when Indians took this land for granted) You were detached from the sufferings and urgencies of men. Depression never strengthened your will; you were strong. War never scarred you; irritated rumps left fur tufts from their scratchings and they were your medals; all animals favoured you. Affluence never softened you; the rigors of winter saw to that. I remember when your branches held my thoughts for the inspections of wind. We became a religion offering pure silence. I am older now filled with those questions suffering for answers. My friends are satisfied with my exact curiosity. Yesterday I remembered when we were perfect and I went to you and found an on-ramp entombing your roots and tires crushing our favourite castles and it was called a free way.