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What Trees Do After Sundown Twilight embraces the mountain’s forest. Night looms, sending day creatures curling deep in sleep--last moments of flickering wings, muffled twitters before dark as the volcano, dormant, sleeps on. For some like mayflies, it’s the final dark. Even as light ebbs, buzzing and crackling electric signals pass from ant to ant. Tree bark tunnels weep nocturnal wetness. What do trees do after sundown? Enjoy starlight, send roots deeper, grow leaves in moonlight, tree bark recalls the speech of bees. At sunrise, the wild trance of spring summons Morning birds, hovering over the still, dark woods, to utter high-pitched, waking calls, as sunlight graces their ancient mountain Lauds. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2011-11-21 13:29:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Joanne, such an electric view; the prominence of trees, presiding over the chorus of life. Maybe the defining line is the trees “enjoying starlight†and “growing in moonlightâ€- that punctuate, in a ration form; that the eminence of trees is yet a sliver to the universe. Powerful image.
Some of the sensuality of this piece (for one such as me who finds creation thus) is buried in the lesser images. The fact of “twilight embracing the forest†is romance on a grander stage, as well as the object of this world cyclically snuggle to slumber. Also hidden in the text is the “mayflies†who are basically born to the compulsion of breeding, just to die (eaten or otherwise), “curling†and “muffled†creatures and the scarcely cloaked image of the “volcano†sleeping post coitus.
I don’t know, maybe I have an overactive imagination but I did find this piece invigorating far beyond the active earth, that I adore, then on to the point that propagates the life of creation.
There is a carnal genteelness to the entire view, of “roots deeper†and “tree bark tunnelsâ€, but also in the mix is the naturalness of it all as if the high priestess has left the vestal and sung with the rising of the moon, “lauds†– maybe that is the word; “summonsâ€, “waking callsâ€, “graces†and the fortune to be a part of the fecundity of it all.
Beauty, I think; is part of the whole, made of the pieces. A naturalists dream; or a dreamers soul.