our trees

the song of our trees begins softly at first,
like the first whispered verse of an ancient aria born free from a burst of words spoken out of anger or animosity.
born of the truest love,
and the simplest reciprocity.
of life and liberty, and
precious notes we all know but whose frequency we cannot hear.

big pillowy belts of air fill the atmosphere with
delicate harmonies slowly taking up space
like grand ideas taking their place in a grand opera house
where their melodies press our memories tightly against the face of their branches.

and beneath their power stances
pulsing within the earth that you and i draw power from and stand upon,
the blood of our ancestors that surround you and i
in the air and everywhere around us.