by Rosalie Hendon
Round and round we go,
measuring our lives by sunlight.
Within my journals, a stop motion film stutters.
Days are bookmarks.
I line them up, stretch back to 17 years old.
Assess the growth.
Drill for a core sample, bark to heartwood.
In thick or thin, richer or poorer.
Thick years of warm rain.
Thin for drought and cold.
Scars from fire and lightning.
Always ending in the same spot,
capturing the year under our skin.
To provide such service, even in death,
that from our bodies
whole ecosystems
(dendroecology),
climates
(dendroclimatology),
civilizations
(dendroarchaeology)
can be rediscovered.
To be a tree, and preserve the passage of time, root to crown
(dendrochronology).
He wrote,
Even the stars give up some
of their secrets to trees.
Rosalie Hendon (she/her) is an arborist living in Columbus, Ohio. Her work is published in Ravens Perch, Quibble Lit, Sad Girls Diaries, Pollux, Blue Bottle, and Willawaw, among others. Rosalie is inspired by ecology, relationships, and stories passed down through generations.
Add your first comment to this post