A Poem a Day (568): Bark whisperings

 

Bark whisperings 

Whisperings of bark cracking,       pink streaks       of light writing words       in arching skies,
cradled in cloud hands.        Dew glistens on veined leaves,         their sides curling up
into a beating heart,       nature’s prize.      Listen to the budding breath,       the distant sigh of
the undergrowth,           roots spreading out beneath the earth        carrying currents between
the trees,        an underground network of truth,        communicating through moss.
 
This green, lush land       aches with the weight of eras,       speaks its histories       in accents
we can’t understand,        but we can place an ear        to the peeling bark      and contemplate.
 
An experiment in Kew       lets you hear         the pop,      the hiss,       the click-clack
of sap       streaking through the vessels      of the saplings,        from the trunk up to       the leaves
swishing in the breeze.       Hear the heart of nature        pumping         from the inside,
transpiration and exhilaration         a chase of water,         the lifeblood of the trees,
and wait       for the blackbirds to land,      cosy down into their        twig nests       on high.
 
In the dawn chorus        you’ll hear them sing       of their ancestors,        a mist of melodies
echoing from the treetops,          songs leaking        through the skies       to wake the morning.
 
And we’ll chase life        through the deep, damp woods,        ground squelching      beneath us,
leading us in,        into the recesses,       light streaking the ground       from above
into the verdancy,        into the hidden places,       into the dark       where the earth smells green.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, March 18, 2023