Tree Recall
Walking the long gone fence line of our family farm where I grew up,
same trail kept clear by deer rather than Black Angus cattle back then,
my first time back in too many years, I see the forgotten beech grove.
Going straight to the tallest tree, see my initials on its smooth gray bark,
larger, darker and higher up than that day I carved them in, still legible,
a primitive, permanent, personal mark from me, a teenager in the sixties.
I sense this living monument of our shared existence knows I am here,
this time span hug embrace between age-old friends, reminiscing advice
we maybe should have given to that version of myself all those years ago.
Author: Carl Palmer
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