The Tree on the Corner
By Lilian Moore
I've seen
The tree on the corner
in spring bud
and summer green.
Yesterday
it was yellow gold.
Then a cold
wind began to blow.
Now I know--
you really do not see
a tree
until you see
its bones.
By Lilian Moore
I've seen
The tree on the corner
in spring bud
and summer green.
Yesterday
it was yellow gold.
Then a cold
wind began to blow.
Now I know--
you really do not see
a tree
until you see
its bones.
I came across this poem years ago when I was a new teacher. It was perfect for young students with its simple words, and simple expression of the sequence of the seasons.
I printed the words on chart paper, using the appropriate color for each season's verse. I drew a bare tree, branches reaching and dividing and running off the paper, and leaves on the ground around the trunk. I hung it on a bulletin board every year in November. The children loved its rhythm . . . like the rhythm of the seasons.
I left this poster behind, along with many others, when I retired. But the words remained with me when I left.
Today I walked into a hospital room to visit my mother. She'd broken her hip yesterday and was waiting for surgery.
Pale, slack-faced in sleep, her form looked small as a child's under the white blanket. The skin on her arms and face was as wrinkled as bark . . . and I thought, "You really do not see a tree until you see its bones."
I looked for a long time hesitant to wake her.
This is her winter.
But when she opened her eyes, and reached for my hand with a smile, and said my name with pleasure . . . I saw she still had spring inside.
~~~~~
“Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple tree.”
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Comments
Peace - D
Beautiful, beautiful photographs, lovely sentiments from the poets, and, of course, your ability and success in saying so much in such a few lines here.
My grandmother broke her hip when she was 99 years old. The surgeon was young, but old enough to admit that he'd never actually operated on anyone 99 years old before and wasn't exactly sure what he was up against.
The surgery was a complete success (she danced a bit at her 100th birthday party, and stood to give a speech at that event and cut a huge cake).
About looks when you get old: I would have thought that retirement homes such as the one my grandmother moved to when she was 98 (she'd lived alone since my grandfather died over 20 years before) would not have mirrors. That people might be distressed to see the "ch-ch-ch-changes they're going through". But "Westmeath" had a mirror in every room.
It was surely winter as far as my grandmother's body was concerned, which worried me more than it did her, but, like your mother, Ruth, spring remained inside.
Something to nurture and cultivate and enjoy.
I'll be thinking of you and your mum. Mine died young and I'd like to have seen her mellowing and winding down and taking naps.
A Janis Ian lyric that I get in my head quite often these bleaker days up here by the North Sea is "And in the winter extra blankets for the cold ... fix the heater ... getting old ... I am wiser now, you know ..."
Best!
Ross
It's wonderful that when you look at your mom you see her bones and her life force at the same time. It would seem only the outer shell reflects the passing of time - our inner selves "shall always be sweet."
Much love and healing vibes for your dear Mom. I hope she gets well soon!
I could just picture your mother, and the outside bark, but the inner spring flower and the pleasure seeing you brought her.
I took pictures of my Aunt Cassie's hands when she was in the hospital at 98 before her passing. I love the picture of her hands, old and wrinkled but with so many stories to tell.
I am praying for your mother's full and speedy recovery.
Love and Hugs
Wanda
May your mom have a quick and complete recovery.
Your mention of a tree's bones reminded me of meeting a Cambodian family in February in Massachusetts. They had just arrived, and the man looked around and said to my wife, "Missy, why are all the trees dead?"