In search of story

Disconnections: September 27.18


 A window with a view

coveted prize

a break in routine

rest for our eyes

a tree with some posies

quiets day’s din

but sometimes can startle

by looking back in.

We’ve looked back and forth

Crabapple and I

exchanging world views

in the year that’s gone by.

It’s given the kitchen

a leafy embrace

and made my new house

a cozier place.

Lichened old faithful

steadfast and seasoned

shading me from

a world all unreasoned.

There’ve been times in my life

I’ve known a kind tree

that seemed like kin

and companion to me.

Perhaps you, dear reader,

understand what I mean

and also have had

a friend that is green.


When I moved in here, almost a year ago, I knew that two trees would have to come down. This crabapple is one of them. Now the arrangements are made, and I can’t help the sadness. It’s been so pretty, wrapping around my little bay window. This place is still not home to me, and the crabapple has seemed to know that. I will miss it.



8 thoughts on “Disconnections: September 27.18

  1. This is lovely, and terribly sad.

  2. A tree has a personality. We’ve taken three down since moving here, and I never ever walk by without remembering what they looked like. The tree I loved the best was a willow in KS. I planted six or eight and one lived. He was huge, and provided amazing shade and comfort. I buried my favorite dog under my favorite tree. I don’t know if either one are still where they were, but they are in my memories. You will miss that tree, of that I have no doubt.

    • Oh, heavens! A favorite dog under a favorite tree? There is such a thing as sacred ground, and that would be one instance of it. I absolutely understand how a willow tree would be a favorite; there was a very significant willow tree in my growing-up years, and sometimes I wish I could talk to it again.

  3. I’m sure you have a good reason to take it out. I’m glad it was around to help you settle in. You reminded me of a pet tree I had as a child. It was a sycamore tree I grew from seed in a pot. My Dad knew what it was destined to become and remonstrated with me, not that I paid any heed. I have a vague feeling I was persuaded to set it free in a wood, but remember making a good old childish song and dance when we disagreed about aspects of its care.

    • What a wonderful concept: a pet tree! That would make a wonderful children’s book! And what more noble matter for a difference of opinion between father and daughter?

      • Well, I suppose it could have been worse. He eventually got fed up of advising me it was going to grow too tall and stumped it off at the top when I was not looking. He had no doubt encouraged me to plant it, not anticipating I would then want to grow it.

  4. Oh, dear. When you have to look at part of your history and say “it could have been worse,” you know it was significant. Your poor tree!

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