Listening to Trees

I press my forehead against

an old growth redwood trunk,

twisted bark like thick fur

the color of rust. I step inside

its burnt-out core, a room created

by past centuries of fire, hollowed

as a giant cathedral but somehow

still growing taller. I lean against

the towering creature, branches

higher than any human reach.

Light filters in making a celestial pattern

and a spider hangs its home beside me.

I say what do you need from me? and stop speaking.

I feel my bones settle, my thoughts go silent.

The tree says—take the time to listen,

make the time to hear me.

This is its only request.