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for Annie Dillard (-2026)
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I believed
a mind’s shattering released
the objects of its scrutiny: trees, blue plums in a bowl,
(Louise Glück, from “World Breaking Apart”)
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32) When I say ‘hope,’ I don’t mean hope for anything in particular. I guess I just mean thinking that it’s worth it to keep one’s eyes open. “What are all those / fuzzy-looking things out there? / Trees? Well, I’m tired / of them”: the last words of William Carlos Williams’s English grandmother.
(Maggie Nelson, from Bluets)
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I think you
would like the Chestnut
Tree, I met in my walk.
It hit my notice suddenly -
and I thought the Skies
were in Blossom -
Then there’s a noiseless
noise in the Orchard,
that I let persons hear -
(Emily Dickinson, from a letter to T. W. Higginson)
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Annie, it has taken me a long time to live.
And to take a long time to live is to take a long time
To understand that your life is your own life.
(James Wright, from “Voices Between Waking and Sleeping in the Mountains”)
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As a rule after lunch mother has a nap
and I go out to walk.
The bare blue trees and bleached wooden sky of April
carve into me with knives of light.
Something inside it reminds me of childhood
it is the light of the stalled time after lunch
when clocks tick
and hearts shut
and fathers leave to go back to work
and mothers stand at the kitchen sink pondering
something they never tell.
You remember too much,
my mother said to me recently.
Why hold onto all that? And I said,
Where can I put it down?
(Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay”)
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The present of our life looks different under trees.
…
Some trees, like giant sequoias, are, practically speaking, immortal, vulnerable only to another ice age. They are not even susceptible to fire. Sequoia wood barely burns, and the bark is “nearly as fireproof as asbestos. The top of one sequoia, struck by lightning a few years ago during a July thunderstorm, smoldered quietly, without apparently damaging the tree, until it was put out by a snowstorm in October.”
…
We run around under these obelisk-creatures, teetering on our soft, small feet. We are out on a jaunt, picnicking, fattening like puppies for our deaths. Shall I carve a name on this trunk? What if I fell in a forest: Would a tree hear?
(Annie Dillard, from “The Present,” Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
[ to submit a tree, email trees@grantrosson.com ]