I have lived in the same neighborhood for 21 years, and for all of that time, there was an empty lot in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. This empty lot was my crossover space for walking from my street to a neighboring one that also follows the bayou. The crossover lot was also a picnic area with my grandkids. Together we named where the live oak drapes nearly to the ground “the forest”.
Earlier this week I walked to the forest with my grandkids. Many of the oak limbs were gone! And the rest of the trees had big white X’s on them.
“Mamére, what will happen to the trees?”
“Someone bought this lot, so they are taking down the trees to build a house.”
“So where will we play?”
Sadly, I had to explain that when someone buys their own property, they can do what they want with the trees.
I wish it weren’t true. My heart is sick over this loss.
The National Writing Project annual Write Out with the National Parks Service is happening now. Consider taking time outside to write and post with #writeout.
Prompted by Pádraig Ó Tuama’s invitation to write about a place you know go to, I wrote a poem for the trees.
Paradise Woods on Duperier Oaks
This one is for the trees
on the empty lot,
the tall sweet gum
forever littering the street
with spiked balls
and feathery leaves,
felled
for a concrete driveway.
I weep as I pass the old oak
whose branches, trimmed
exposing bare skin and bones,
once held children
the “forest” where they played
hide-n-seek, Catch-me-if-you-can.
If I could, I’d save you now.
Old growth cedar, I apologize
that the invasive sound of chain saws
disrupts your silent steeple.
I praise trees,
your seeds send roots,
and secrets.
Trees, you are our saviors.
Forgive us.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please head over to Laura Purdie Salas’s site where she features my little Wood Duck Diary and a tanka poem. Thanks, Laura!
Reflections on the Teche 