When I was young I lived in the suburbs and I never saw a tree except those neat, tidy, trimmed, pruned, bland, boring, characterless trees in other people's front yards. When I was thirteen we moved, moved to a tiny house, tiny for five people, in a tiny, tiny village, in the Carolinas and I saw oaks, magnificent, sprawling, overhanging, southern, fairytale oaks, untrimmed, thick-trunked, a shadow in the sunshine, past in the present adorned in spanish moss, gray and graceful. When I was twenty and in college, and taking my degree, all the trees I saw were those on campus, just like the trees in the suburbs that were all I ever saw when I was young. A summer holiday, I lived in a cabin by a lake and there were the willows, cascading, green, shadowy, dreamy and when I got married we lived in an apartment in Canada in Toronto, a city and there were no trees except dusty, tired, withered, pitiful saplings and when we had a raise we moved north, to a town where the pine trees were, tall, regal, needles scented and sticky, forever green, and this is where we stayed where the pines were forever.
Reason for writing:
the poem is true. i adore pine trees.
Birth sign: Not entered
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