Robbi Nester
Robbi Nester, a retired college educator, is the author of 5 books of poetry, the newest of which will be an ekphrastic collection, About to Disappear, to be published by Shanti Arts and released this coming fall. She has also edited 3 anthologies and currently curates and hosts two monthly poetry reading series, Verse Virtual Monthly feature readings and Open Mic and Words with You, part of the Poetry Salon Online. Learn more about her work at http://www.robbinester.net.
Trees
They aren’t like us, beings who construct a wall, form groups
or tribes mostly to kill or shut each other out. We are capable
of traveling long distances, craving what is new. We struggle
to imagine each other’s thoughts or feelings, eschew differences,
while trees are connected at the root, know each other thoroughly,
give freely to their neighbors across species, act as one. Tree solipsism’s
not a thing. Even if an old oak grows alone, secluded on a hill, the others
lopped off long ago with buzz saws and axes, I imagine that the oak
can empathize with all the blades of grass around it, squirrels and birds
nesting in its branches, saplings sprouted from the acorns it has dropped.
I like to think it loves its leaves, but embraces their bright demise in fall,
even the lightning bolt that hollows out its core. By human standards,
the tree’s a philosopher, even a saint, model for inhabiting the Earth.
