Sunday with Trees

Tomorrow I may try again to persuade old Mr. Bitner,

Who lives in the blistered eyesore down the block,

That it’s time to invest in a little scraping and painting.

If he tells me again that his house is an accurate mirror

Of what he feels about himself—how his best years

Are long behind him—I may suggest that sometimes

Pretending to feel what one doesn’t feel

May brighten a mood. Or I’ll stress how grateful

All his neighbors will be if he manages to lose himself

Now and then in the effort others are making

To make the block look less abandoned.

But today I don’t feel like lecturing anyone on civility.

I feel like taking a walk in the woods, among trees

Civil by nature, which warn each other by pheromones

When insects attack them, which use their roots

To send an infusion of sugars into the roots

Of their ailing neighbors. Lucky for me

All their sharing is done unconsciously

So they can escape any pride in their generosity

That might make their company a burden.

Tomorrow I may try to persuade the young couple

Across the street with three young children

Not to make the move they’re considering

To a block with more children. If they’re patient,

I’ll tell them, more families like theirs

Are bound to move in, drawn by their own

Pioneering spirit. In the meantime,

Their family is making their neighbors feel

They live in the midst of life, not at its margin.

But today, rather than lecture anyone about loyalty,

I want to walk among trees loyal by nature,

Trees impossible to seduce by an offer

Of a site more congenial just a mile away.

All are content to root down where they are.

No wonder the birds, knowing the trees will always

Give them a stable home, feel safe to indulge

Their flightiness. Do they know how lucky they are

That their landlords never ask for a penny in rent?

A question the trees are as far from asking

As they are from asking the birds to sing at least

One song a day to them and to no one else.