Talking trees, anyone? Goodbye for now.

About 10 years ago, I discovered an online world of writers.  I thought I had died and gone to cyber heaven - here in such an unlikely place were those of my kind - people who wrote and shared, and many of them were very good.  Among those was my friend, Joshua, who could well be Indiana's next Poet Laureate - IF he wanted to be.  But he doesn't.  His talent is his own, and aside from an online archive, he does not show his work, although he is prolific.

Over the last year or so, I have not been as productive as I was in the past, and I have to wonder if journaling has led to that.  It's so much more fun, but then, I remember when disciplined writing was fun, too.  It was a challenge I did not always conquer well, but I enjoyed trying.  I want so badly to get back to that, and am taking my leave of you to do it. And for some reason, I'm compelled to leave you with a couple of talking trees.  A parable, if you will.

The Tale of the Magnolia and the Mimosa

Let me tell you a tale
of a wish to be free,
the tale of a magnolia
and a wild weed tree.

Once upon a magic time
a mimosa seed tumbled along the wind
and came to rest by a magnolia twig
and he cried, "this is it! my tumbling's end!"
he rooted beside the gangling magnolia;
sprouted beside his new found friend.
Side by side, stronger, they grew,
and their friendship flourished
in the sandy soil, too.

They murmured their dreams on the southern breeze,
drank dew drops and morning light
when day had awakened from darkness of night.
"I want to be supple", Mimosa said,
"to lean in the tempest's driving power,
to feel my boughs come near to break,
but for my bending strength to save the hour.
I'll rally after the punishing winds,
and victorious, face the sun again!"

Magnolia rustled a whispered reply
to Mimosa's dreams of enduring strength.
"I have no great aspirations", she sighed.
My wants and dreams are precious few;
I know if my limbs should ever break
'twould be the the weight of love for you."

Time flew past and their roots intertwined,
Magnolia was wreathed with fragrant cream
while Mimosa's flowers were silken, refined.
Yet in the budding was something amiss;
Delicate fronds showed signs of wilt
and shrank from Magnolia's feathery kiss.
"Our interlocked roots are strangling me,"
he grieved aloud his static fate,
"but only their wrenching would make me free.."
She stilled the sway of whispering branches
and murmured a quiet "I see."

The skies grew dark one summer's eve,
Thunder exploded from heavens, high
gusts grew harsh with wrathful might
Lightning split an angry sky
Nocturnal creatures shivered and quivered
and hid from the tempest's assault on the night.

Mimosa reveled in the fray,
swayed and bent low in the tempest gales
but Magnolia stiffened to meet the fight,
went rigid in the storm wind's wails


and broke...
with a splintering, thunderous crash.

Lightning receded to occasional flash,
thunder ebbed to a distant sky
and the only sound filling the rain washed air
was Mimosa's mournful, sighing Whyyyy?
..in a final whisper Magnolia replied
My wants and dreams I gave no voice,
for they were never grand, but precious few.
I don't regret I made this choice
to fall with the weight of loving you.
Just know, sometimes it isn't in bending
with love we give, or a stand we take,
but often our might lies in making the choice.
Sometimes, it takes more strength to break.

Mara - maybe 2000, I can't remember.