An unusually tall stately tree, shorn of all leaves dominate the fore ground of my home sumptuously blessed by nature. On a moonless night, it inspires awe, even fear, its sprawling branched in all directions appear like a giant with countless arms. But hold!, look at it yet again, and linger your gaze. And you find a beauty and a grace, offering a sight that the best of elements can conjure.
I saw it first.
On a dark moonless night
Its pale white branches, so many of them
Spread like a witch’s claws.
I shivered with an ungainly fear.
If the ghosts could be trees
If the giants could be trees
If the ogres could be trees
The tree that stands before me, I wonder
Why it appears as a white giant ghost?
But it is unfair, biased, and prejudiced.
Because how could a tree ever stand for?
A Ghost, a Giant, or an Ogre?
It always is, has been.
Gentle, benign, friendly, well- meaning.
Perhaps its size misled me.
Intimidated me, dominated my imagination.
Its sprawling branches
Like a many-headed serpent
Casts its shadow all around.
And then I saw it on a moon washed night
Tall and stately, its pale white
Branches shone in the silver light.
The tree bore a benign smile.
Nature blessing elements alike.
The beauty that the tree radiated.
Was indeed, ethereal, unreal.
Its whiteness evoked.
Purity, a pristine charm
Transmitting a glow warm.
If the trees were gods
(Which they indeed are)
Here was one, its pulchritude unsurpassed.
Binding me with love and warmth
Only what a God can grant.
I often stare at it.
From the sanctuary of my home
Hours on end, but never tire.
It reaches out to me, ever benign,
Warmly embracing me from afar.
So, gaze on trees with wonder,
Let their beauty fill you whole,
For in this world of strife and thunder,
Trees stand as a beacon, our hearts and soul.
scribo ad LX 