The Necessity of Trees

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light---

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it’s necessary

to talk about trees.

(From “What Kind of Times are These,” Adrienne Rich, 1991)

Golden, yellow brilliance sends me to higher ground, searching for stands of aspens every October. Here, animated clusters of aspens present themselves against the green, stately uprightness of the surrounding conifers.

Other trees have yellow leaves, but I don’t know these names or pay such close attention to them. Aspen leaves twist, flutter, and glint, performing a succinct choreography induced by staunch breezes of transition that swirl over the mountain.

The shimmering, shivering leaves of the aspen rustle demurely--or dance frenetically when there is a big gust—and in either case, snuggling up close to an aspen trunk and looking straight up is perhaps the best way to bring the sky closer.