What would I miss the most about the West Coast should I move away and make my home elsewhere? The redwoods. The tall stands of old growth redwoods that no camera or photographer can do a moment’s justice. I’ve gotten to know these trees over the past several years, and have connected with them in ways not easily expressed. They feel like friends, close friends. The tall drafty halls feel like the house my spirit has lived in for a million years.
loam
will your long slender roots
reach down and tickle my
thoughts through four
billion years of magma
will the call of an owl echo
from your chambered halls
and skim the cloudscapes
to my faraway ears
will your deep green needles
cast just enough fragrance
to refresh my memory
from the far side of the earth
will i see in the highest vapors
reflected off ice crystals the
faintest reflection of
your topmost branches
i will return to haunt you
to touch your red-brown bark
sit by your fountains and
sing to your leaves
if it be only my ghost
i will come again and drift
like drizzle through the scent
of your ancient gloom
