GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
7-19-17 I must be a different breed of arborist. I spent twenty years roamin' through this forest in search of some daylight but all I got was the occasional breeze whisperin' to me to leave. Nobody says "Make like a tree and stay!", even if that's all they ever do. They don't move. They don't go anywhere. They just drop their seed and it grows up... no convincing it to go to college, or get a job. And definitely no parenting involved at all. Meanwhile, I'm trying hard to do the one thing it does so well- leave!- and I keep circling around the same stumps and mangled spaghetti branches with no end in sight. It's as if they want to keep me here, but are afraid to tell me. Is it them, or is it me? I almost can't tell. I'm not drawn to them, I think, like they are to me... I was their calling. I was the difference between studying and stalking. Now all I see is wood everywhere. Is it them? Or is it me? |