Thursday, September 19, 2019

The Black Walnut Trees















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


When I arrived here things
were not as I had expected,
not at all, truth be told.
On my first night, I slept
out on the deck, under the
stars and the arm of a tree.
In the night, she came to me,
a bright shining she who
was the tree and she said,
“I know why you are here. The
land called you here.” With
that, she left, but I did not.
One day, a man came up the
drive in an old rust-bottomed
pick up. He thought me a fool.
“Mam, I see ya got these big
ol’ trees, dangerous, gonna fall
on yur place. I’ll cut ‘em fer ya,
even carry ‘em away, cheap.”
I know a thing or two about
being swindled, and also how
to talk like I’m from a place.
“Sir, ain’t nobody gonna touch
my black walnuts! Not today,
not ever. No, Sir, they ain’t.
Now, git!” He understood me.
The truck bumped its way back
down the drive at, quite remarkably,
twice the speed it had arrived.
He hasn’t called on me since.
So, the black walnut grove still
extends its arms, still embraces
my little cabin, still embraces me,
still knows secrets that
I haven’t yet learned
of myself.


~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author
Published in Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion

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