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Ode to our Elder
Anchored alone on a mountain ridge
Sharing East and West,
this ageless oak fog dripped awakens to early light.
Yielding acorn fruit through centuries
her everlasting covenant of love,
the venerable tree bares witness to our changing world.
Native folk gathered here on their way to celebrations.
The stage coach paused for passengers’ libations.
Cowboys lingered here chasing steers.
Now they steer four-wheelers past her boughs.
Cars and trucks spew fumes straining on the curve below where this elder ponders existence.
What is to come she may not foretell,
but what has been it’s filled with knowledge.
Long hours flow without complaint.
Often parched as if too close to the sun
the old tree feels the last flicker of orange
on straining leaves hanging on outstretched limbs as the orb sinks into the sea once more.
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