WHEN A TREE FALLS

 WHEN A TREE FALLS                   

,

A tree is always there,

immovable,

a living, solid friend - 

backrest to the solitary reader,

a shelter from sudden rain,

the hollows of its roots

a bed for summer lovers -

perhaps a hundred years

of memories.

You don't expect

to wake one morning

and find its height reduced to length,

the secret places in its roots

indecently exposed,

and the unreachable branches

sad and defeated

under your caressing hand.

When a tree falls                                         

your whole world rocks

and the child in you

trembles.

It's like coming downstairs

in the dark night

seeking comfort

and hearing your father cry.

.........................................................................

I wrote this poem after the hurricane in England - a rare event that toppled thousands of trees across the country. The trees that affected me the most were a row of chestnuts on our village green, where I went with my young son to survey the damage. He was thrilled to collect a whole shopping bag of conkers - I was heart-broken by the sight of root balls bigger than a bus exposed to the air, and the vast holes slowly filling with water.

Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers.