i walk the neighborhood attempting to ascend a sturdy tree to write that letter to you i pledged i would. there are many here in Magnolia Grove, but most are unideal for climbing: either too thin or the branches begin very high or too exposed to passer by's. my shoes are all wrong for the task to boot & it seems i may have made a promise to you that i cannot keep. but i find a tree eventually, a few of blocks south of Floyd on Snover. she is thick with bulges & burls. i remove my coat, sweater, socks, hot pink canvas covered book between my teeth as i climb. thighs tight around irregular curvature, hands fiercely gripping incidental mounds. then suddenly,
told to get down by a woman that is just as rough & tough as the bark that chafes my palms, said with a sense of authority (for the tree stands in front of her house). and just on the cusp of perching in the perfect place that dips & bows like a seat. i follow the directive to come down to maintain the flow of connection i have with the air, the tree, the moment.
i settle at the root. probably the best place for me to be, sitting on actual earth, the breathing wet dirt beneath my bare feet. i plant myself & suck up nourishment from the ground that feeds so i can push uP to the places i want to reach; to touch the stars & drink the moonlight, to catch the dawn & reflect the warmth of the sun. i ask the tree what she wants to say:
"i am so happy you are here! would you believe no one has ever tried to climb me? truth be told, you may have injured yourself climbing down, but i would have helped you as much as i could. i will not forget you - thank you for touching me with your love and grace and curiosity..."
i turned around & hugged her.
the woman comes out again to ask me what i am doing, her chow in tow. her neighbors have been calling, telling her someone is doing something unusual near her tree. i reply: "oh, i'm making art". this answer somehow ameliorates the porcupine prickly feeling i am picking up from her. i gather my things & walk with her & the dog. talking about the neighborhood & the trees. she picks up a poop with a plastic bag & says: "hey look, i have some art right here for you". i laugh & say: "that's a good one!" despite the quill sting underneath the comment. she is so unbelievably unfriendly it's like caricature; i find delight in the ludicrousness of her attitude & resultant comments!
you are in another city on a bicycle, the pavement blurry from speed beneath tires. i see your eyes & the focus in your face, the simple joy in small tasks. it is that busyness of life that give us a sense of purpose & grounding; feeling the wind on skin, going to the post office, depositing checks. the exhilarating & the mundane, living side by side. they are for each other.
sun is strong slanted in the late afternoon, the last of its strength expended in these final hours of daylight. faint howling of dogs floating in a high place in the sky. the bird songs weave hypnotic lacing with melodies beyond human hearing, pulling the dusk closer as the temperature drops. i walk home slowly, knowing in just a few days, this will be my home no longer. i will carry my sense of home some other place, where i will make friends with a new land, find the comfort in the places i am drawn to. begin again.
loving,
*ankah*
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