Single Tree, Seeking Friendship

SINGLE TREE, SEEKING FRIENDSHIP


Deep in the woods, the old pine tree caught my eye.
It thrust out one short grey branch, broken off, the length shaped surprisingly like a human arm—elbow, wrist,
and outstretched hand.

It seemed oddly approachable, that tree, waiting there,
maybe even longing for attention. Who knows? I stopped, couldn’t help but clasp that gnarled hand,
in friendship, as if to shake it.

The tree stood in a secret grove, fog sifting softly
through the air, its trunk clothed in mottled bark,
bearing scars of wind and weather. Overhead,
the branches, needled in healthy green,

dripped water down, dampening the dried needle
carpet at its feet. Many days since, in sun
and fog, wind and damp, I have hiked the path
to reach for that scarred old branch.

And when I have sat and leaned my back against
that tree’s thick trunk, I have felt my body sink into
another living body—a woodsy presence offering
such surprising comfort.