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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