The Trees Don't Know
7 July 2007
Leaves like hands reached for you.
Your back was turned. You did not see
the branch bend and touch your shoulder,
once, twice, thrice,
it's brown tip like a finger,
gentle but persistent. You listened
and in the distance a bird lamented the dying light.
Existence is a mystery, a conundrum,
and each and every one of us is a sphinx,
reaching out for one another, trying desperately
with words to solve the riddles of our days
and of the days before and after. We are inconsistent,
sometimes reasonable, most times not, prone to tantrums,
often breaking rather than bending to the winds of change,
stumbling about for answers, even though the questions
are not quite clear. Clearly we could use some assistance,
but the extraterrestrials are otherwise occupied,
and the trees are just as dumbfounded as we are.
© 2007, Satya J. Gabriel