Her wide arms
reach and summon.
I feel the lure even
from a mile away.
I met her, the giant
Grandmother oak
centered on an island
in the Jackson Park lagoon.
In those days,
I wore rubber gloves and a mask,
sanitized the handlebars.
When air frightened me
I met her, the giant.
Immediately I loved her.
Immediately I knew
solace and joy under
her big branches,
branches like my grandma’s
large, loving arms.
I found a home and wondered:
Can I fall in love with a tree?
Some days I am
not sure what love is.
I assume it’s relational
sacrifice, but maybe
it’s simply attention.
I don’t doubt that I love her.
So then why have I ignored
her whispered invitations
between Zoom meetings
and typing emails?
While folding laundry or washing dishes,
I often wonder how she’s doing.
I wonder about the size of her leaves,
her current color of green.
I am preoccupied
and full of excuses.
I am way too slow
and not so good
at loving my neighbor.
I am way too slow
at doing what’s good for me
and following my heart.
Without gloves, masks and sanitizer,
over a year after I met her,
I find myself under her branches.
Held by giant arms,
I feel my heartbeat.
I am discovering that
I'm still alive,
I still do love,
and she still does reach.
Grandmother oak in Jackson Park. photo by Julia Walsh, FSPA.
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