I can’t recall when I first slid under the fallen tree branches. I do remember a gentle breeze lifting my hair as I gazed at the early yellow-green buds on the roughened tree limbs. The tree, once tall and majestic, had split down its center trunk back in the winder. Layers of ice had encased every twig and branch within cold hardness and weighed the tree down until it ripped in two. During the winter months, the tree appeared barren. Desolate. Dead. But with the coming of warmer weather, the tree resurrected itself.
I remember sitting in the soft spring sunshine and running my hand along the splintered scar where the trunk had split. Tree sap coated the exposed whitened flesh. Like blood, it felt sticky and wet. Later, it hardened into glossy amber, a scab on the trunk. The tree healed itself.
I remember shinnying along one side of the halved trunk, scratching the bark away on the smaller branches and seeing with delight the green under bark. Life. The buds, little bumpy caterpillar legs on each thin twig, felt like Braille messages under my fingertips. I longed to decipher this code of rebirth.
Days slipped by unnoticed by my childish concept of time. The dense green canopy evolved. It changed as life unfurled its sails into the warming scented winds. The long, lazy summer days found me beneath the sheltering tree branches, hidden from prying sibling eyes and the cacophony of friends at play. The grass under the branches receded, and I eventually wore a hollow into a patch of loamy earth where I played for hours. The musty aromas of summer wafted through the air, filtering through the interwoven leaves along with the soundless sunlight.
I quietly nestled among those protective branches, a bird in its next, and lazily spent my days lost in Nancy Drew mysteries while the world rushed on around me. The tree cradled me in dapples of cool shadow and darts of warm sunshine. This green haven cocooned me within its tranquility.
Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
“The Tree”
Once
Tall and
Majestic
Then
Split and
Torn
by
layers
of ice—
cold
hardness
weighing
ripping
killing
Then
Resurrection
Sap
healing the whitened flesh
a
glossy amber
green
under bark
Birds—
Caterpillar
legs
And
a hidden message of
Life
a
secret code of
Rebirth
Then
Evolution
Life
unfurling its sails
into
warm scented winds
Sheltering
me
in
a canopy of green
Interwoven
leaves
Nestling
me
within
soundless sunlight
Cradling
me
in
dapples of shadow
and
darts of sunshine
Cocooning
me
within
Tranquility
Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
This prose and poetry pair modeled for my students the fact that both types of writing rely upon the same elements. I often encouraged my students to take their reflective prose pieces and convert them into poetry.
