Sometimes I hear the trees talking
about that first tree of knowledge,
the natural fruit it bore,
that it’s not their fault the world
is how it is. That the human mind,
necessary as it is, doesn’t always
seem natural. That instead of fitting
things together it tears them apart
and doesn’t know how to heal. “Thank
God for the heart!” they whisper
leaf by leaf, tree by tree, root by
root. Sigh and dance with the wind,
look at me to make sure I’ve heard
The Sermon of the Trees today.
I bow slightly, my eyes squinting
in the sun, almost understand
what the crows are saying.
-Byron Hoot
