On the death of a friend
A great tree has fallen in the forest.
We stand beside it, bathed
as if by evening light in awe and grief.
Its branches, that once spread toward other trees
now, toppled, reach for sky or earth alone.
We marvel at its height—look, greater than we knew!
Its roots, exposed, reveal how deeply it was fed.
In time the flesh of this old tree will sink
back into earth, and every bit of bark and fiber feed
the bugs and fungi who will do their sacred work
until this wood, now briefly held in death,
becomes again the stuff of life.
The fruit and shade and shelter
that it gave without complaint have fled,
as if a teeming flock of birds at once had left its limbs
and flown, with all their songs, into our hearts,
where now those gifts, like roots in winter,
live unseen, and pray, and wait, till we ourselves,
mysteriously nourished, bear new fruit.
Goodbye, dear friend. The space you leave
now opens up for others yet to grow.
Your deep, thriving green we miss so much
still somehow burgeons in these woods
and in our greening hearts that feel the wind
like spring-warmed leaves with joy and gratitude.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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