After the Hoh Rain Forest

I believe
trees generate wind and rain
when one tree decides to move,
a forest of motion catches on--
each year Hoh arouses
twelve feet of rain.

I claim
that trees communicate,
xylem and phloem moving
up, down, sideways
through the roots
to pass on messages
like homing pigeons.

I stand under
a canopy of chlorophyll
to drench my senses,
the arrow of ongoing years
now a circle,
the lifespan of trees
re-constructing time,
human age an instant
cycling around millennia.

I read trees,
perennial libraries
spilling life
from top to bottom,
carving identities
onto trunks
like headstones
to claim ancestry
and progeny.

I hear
the susurrus of trees
in my dreams,
whispers of hope
in the very names of these:
ginkgo fir juniper
elm chestnut pine
oak aspen sycamore
willow redwood linden
beech mulberry redbud
              olive

I want to walk
on fungal duff.

Anita Tanner finds reading and writing akin to breathing. She was raised on a small dairy farm in Star Valley, Wyoming, where she learned a love of the land, hard work, the thrill of planting and harvest, and the love and power of metaphor. A book of her poetry, Where Fields Have Been Planted, was published in 1999. To her, words matter, and finding the right ones is an ongoing quest.

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