Member-only story
Climbing trees
198.
I’m reading a lot of books about trees.
(Ironic when you think what books are made of.)
At the moment, real trees are all wet and sad
Because spring has nimbly sprung back into winter.
The books warm my chilblained soul
With lyrical writing about how addictive trees are,
With fun facts about how they talk to each other
Through the Wood Wide Web made of fungus and bacteria.
It’s decades since I climbed a tree to read my book,
Tucked into a broad crook of the tree, looking down
Occasionally at the branches below in a spiral.
I was in a flying saucer, exploring over alien turf.
I was in a three-masted ship in a storm
And the ship was rolling and bouncing on the wind.
It never occurred to me that I might fall.
Once I found myself staring eye to eye with
A pigeon on its nest. It flew away in a rattle of feathers
And I climbed down quickly,
Hoping its eggs would survive.
I’m out of practise now but if I see
A good climbing tree
And there are no people around
I might have a go again.
***
