For many of us on the east coast, we woke up this morning to a mess after a night of gale winds.  Down the street from our house a lovely (albeit rotten) old hemlock fell in the cemetery under thundering winds. I wonder why it’s so sad to see a giant tree down… as if a piece of the neighborhood’s history and a good friend are gone forever.

 

 

The Sound of Trees

 

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the window or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.

 

by Robert Frost