another dream

I’m left with only fragments from last night’s dream.

I am looking at a tree. The hugest tree imaginable, towering over a flat landscape. The trunk is long, deeply striated, straight; impossible to climb. High above the ground the leafy canopy spreads out generously. Its great branches are full of people, tiny like ants or termites. They have tiny axes and saws and climbing equipment. Roped and harnessed to the trunk, the people set light to the branches one by one. As the branches flower into flame, the people saw them off. They drop like bombs and explode when they hit the ground. It is an epic task systematically executed. The people start at the top of the tree, and work their way meticulously downwards til all the branches and leaves are gone and the tree is a giant stump. Then they set to cutting the colossal stump down slice by slice.

apple tree poem written by my dad

Apple Tree

When the canker bit my apple tree

My heart was forced to harden

Now there’s a mute memorial

In the corner of my garden

The saw did its work

And the tree tumbled down

Now there’s just a little stump

No trunk, no branch, no crown

A cradle for my cat

An umbrella from the sun

A larder full of fruit

Green gifts for everyone

Though my apple tree survived

The storms of eighty-seven

Leaning like a drunkard,

It’s gone to Evergreen Heaven

White blossom and green apple pleasures,

Renewed with every year

Are now but memory’s treasures

Refreshed by a tear