There’s a tree in the road
Not in the middle
But it can’t be confused for being
Off

Two cars cannot pass abreast
Polite driving may be necessary
Who was in charge of the decision
To trust human nature,
To entrust safety and cooperation to those who follow?

I arrived after this phenomenon was well-established
How could this be?  How did it come to be?

I
The road was an afterthought
Paved years after the tree was firm
Autos rarely passed this way, lorries never
Should you wish to traverse
The tree takes precedence
As river traffic takes precedence over vehicles crossing a bridge
The bridgekeeper must obey - the tree is firm not flowing.

II
The tree was a sapling when the road was built
A mere twiglet unobserved by most
Her massive trunk growing imperceptibly year after year
One ring after another
Until tectonic forces lifted the road ocean floor
Becoming one with the tree mountain.

III
The tree was well established and observed to be a hazard
But the road is small
And the beauty of the oak
And the comfort of the shade
Bring joy to those
Walking and living
Cars be ******
Let them find their way.  However it is

IV
Our civil engineers are conducting an experiment
There are conflicting interests
Between the Road Advocates and the Tree-ers
RA: “For safety sake, Tear Down That Tree!”
Tree-ers: “We can live in harmony”
Germany or Switzerland
A tie vote.  What to do?

V
Mr. Hitchins, a kind community-minded resident
Willed to the City, fair, the once-thin alleyway
Which grew into a shunway; then a dirt trench; then a passage
Passing from the lonely two way street in front
Through to the loading area behind.
From 1856 until 1973 the road was sparsely used.
Upon proclamation of the Burghers
“Civilised society warrants paved roads.”
Whereupon the deed was dusted off
Provision 12.b.1. of Mr. Hitchens’ will:
“Let it be known to all who hear these words,
that the strip of land running from Virginia Street
to Ferris St, on Platt 687, recorded in book 14009
be and forever is the property of the Fair City
subject only to the right of my favorite tree, Emily, the Oak
to forever reside as she currently is - just on the West side of the strip.”

I arrived long after this phenomenon was established.

I didn’t know it at the time
The bench seemed more a subject
A reminder to sit and look

Ease one’s load
Reflect upon the day
Reach for plumbs unexplored

Years later the memories were revived
The day we saw the bench

She and they
Strolled leisurely
Quaint small exhibits of musty furniture
The rickety interior of the old stone manor

Please, can you take our picture?
Here.  Use my phone.

We were on our way home
Through the garden path
Unflowered in the early winter’s dusk
Brisk but not too chilly.  The cold would come later.

Waiting, alone, I chanced a shot
The composition was
Just OK.  My fans said “good”.  I, “no not”.

I now recall the view
From behind the porch
Looking upward at the stained
Glass dormer
Halfway between the house and the bench

I remember that day
When I saw her.
When I was able to see her.

The birds went missing for some days
I did not fail to see them
For I can keep tabs on their commings
By the feed level in the silo

I wonder, have they departed?
Did the entire gathered multitude
All the species and varieties
At once get summoned by a grand poobah

Ah No.  They’re back
Voracious, suddenly.  Perhaps an appetite
Built up from long journeys South to heat
Returned as quickly to a stable staple supply

El viejo, baggy clothes and vaguely rancid
Arrives at the tickety tockety place
The pigeons dance head first, feet next
He knows each by his dull colour

At the trough they proceed in size order
Pleasing my delicate sense of propriety
Titmouse, cardinal, blue jay, woodpecker
A grub abides among the seed

I observe

Somewhere in the world
The sun shines warm.
Not so hot as to make one
Perspire within a second of leaving the
Air conditioned comfort dome

In soft afternoon light
The native birds glide and perch
And ramble on the ground and resume
Flight quickly once seeds are consumed
To avoid dangers unseen and unsensed

Not here.  Not in this cold part of the world.
Where snow blankets the dreary brown underbrush
Ice covers the limbs.  Chill - no bitten
Frost - infuses the thin bones, sinews
Yearning to be running brooks

Babbling with warm sap
Coddling blanket embrace
Hawks circling on updrafts
For chipmunks, unaware
Slow, down

I won’t be accompanying
you to the airport

I cannot walk much
any longer

Security checkpoints inhibit us
passing through to the gates

Celestial travels ahead
terrestrially bound I turn

I don’t like goodbyes

Goodbye

In Hospital

Sitting quietly beside the bed
Who knows when the next
Slumbering sound or moan
Or grunt or wail

Plaintively will break
The comfortable silence   for me
But not for you
Your lumbering struggling

Breath   or gasp
Where are your eyes
Focused   Ah, yes   you can see
Me barely sitting at the end

Of that dark tunnel
A glimmer of light    never knowing
That words would fail
To emanate from those frail lips

One breath, yes just one word
I understand    you said a word