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Fallen Tree

Lovely old tree fell the night of the ferocious wind

across the path we often take catching young ones

and woody vines as it went scattering broken branches

all about and I wonder how it sounded how it looked

if the ground trembled as it fell if itself trembled

heaving up the earth around its roots leaving behind

a scarred tear and was it ready or nearly so?

Had it died last summer and I failed to notice?

Had the others paid tribute, was it loved in any

particular way by anyone in the way that I love

the four sycamores, the huge cottonwood that I like to

wrap my arms around, the perfect cedar skeleton,

the tree whose gnarled roots hang over the edge

of the creek, the ancient burr oak that

practically everyone around here reveres?

Was it?  Yes or no it has fallen now across the

path barely missing the bench that was put there

in memory of some well-loved someone who

died too soon.

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