When you can’t see the forest for the trees, as the saying goes, it’s understandable when they’re as big as these, as my new saying goes.

I don’t think I will ever get used to the height of West Coast trees. Breathtakingly tall, so tall you can’t see the top if you’re under them, no matter how hard you crane your neck.

The trees in our little corner of the world are what’ve inspired me today. I was out in my chair in the driveway on Friday, tilted back and gazing straight up the trunks, and pondering everything that goes on in these trees, and how very lucky I am to be living among these titans.

Trees

The deer pass under, delicately picking their way through
paths made from the travel of generations
Above the deer swing the squirrels, acrobatics of the branches,
effortlessly moving from tip to tip and chattering their bravado
while near the trunks nestle raccoons, resting for nocturnal rounds
unperturbed by their raucous treemates
after all, the louder crows are out for the day
though when they get home it’s murder

The tree sighs, branches sway, bark rustles
Solemn in its duty it stands as a sentinel
as day begins to fade
Deer finding gathering places to rest for the night,
tucking fawns into hollows made by ancient roots
Squirrels finally silenced, busywork over, nesting cozily
While raccoons sleepily make their way to the ground
to tend to their toilette before the night’s work begins

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