the tree women

this morning i went back to my trees,
a small clump of nature carved into a business park.

tiny woods but they do the trick 

even within sight of a strip mall.

oddly, i don't mind a strip mall;
sometimes "sprawl" just means "people nearby."

and if you turn to face the woods, you have 

nature-y solitude, and when you turn around again,

you can head to Big Lots to buy a welcome mat.

i'm not sure whether the trees were left there
or planted for aesthetics,
but does it really matter?.
what matters, is they stand together.
today I named them Sisters,
because they're females, I can feel it.
each beautiful in her own way.
one at a permanent lean like the friend who listens hard,

leaning into your experience, bearing your burden with you.

another one's bark is burnt and peeling, she's weathered so much 

yet still stands strong.
her neighbor, a short oak, leaves springing out, 

is lively and alert, 

ever the extrovert watching 

for any chance of a party.
they are all still wearing their leaves, even in autumn
which seems cocky of them in a fun way.
now that I think about it, the grove seems too established 

to have been planted recently,
some are older than others, which is how women 

should live in a village.
the older and the younger reminding each other 

of wisdom and fun
trading it back and forth, 

laughing as they learn.
I stood there feeling at home,
speaking to them and thinking I'd known for awhile 

that were I a tree nymph,
the world would make more sense.
I was content at first enjoying them, 

but eventually wanted them to speak and be sentient,
wanting for a moment to be the kind of person 

who believes nature speaks outright

then feeling disappointed in myself 

because I don't know exactly how it works.
but the disappointment passed quickly, because 

something is going on there,
something beyond the tangible and stationary.
I saw, and that matters.
I see with my heart that this place is special,
something meant for me that maybe I uncovered--
and it's no small thing to begin to believe 

I am not passive in this world.
five years ago, I came to the trees thinking of women 

as fairies who might flit among the strong trunks.
That's a lovely image, but now I see us as the trees themselves.
something has changed in me.
I felt it in my feet planted solid on the ground, 

straightening my shoulders
and turning my face up into the mist,
following my sisters' lead. 

Now I've returned and see there is room

for some of the trees to be men living and sharing with us.
The past fear has mostly faded, and I don't want my son to miss it.

But for today, I will take my daughter, a lithe little tree in her own right,

to play a sport with her peers.
I will watch them move and play and work,
laughing and smiling,
noticing and encouraging each other even in the missed shots
a totally communal experience,
a part of that little grove in their own way.