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Silent Nobility, Observed By One Not Worthy

I bend into driving wind
grit stinging the skin
sun long since set
a forray into moonlit streets
where asphalt blends into gravel
the echoes of every footstep  
ripped from the ground
and flung skyward into the  
dark refrain
I come upon a meadow
where the boughs of eucalyptus trees
creak heavy with age
limb droppers
widow makers
 
bearing the wisdom of sun scorched
droughts
absorbing every last drop of moisture
they can
striving to survive amidst the harsh reality of natures cruel perfection
roots dug deep
anchoring them
arms inching heavenward  
an exhaltation for rain to fall
from dry eyes
 
I sit  
lean against a gnarled trunk
a possom scampers in the branches diving for a knot hole
an owl lands silent missing its evening meal
spiders feed off the insects
that seek shelter in its bark
 
the wind dies
as if shot from the wing
leaves rustle gently
 
the tree sleeps
as sentient beings are wont to do
when they rest from carrying
the weight of suffering and survival
my back warmed against the shelter
of this behemoth
 
I left the tree  
my name carved into its trunk
yet another scar
tattooed on its flesh
and even this it bore with silent nobility
Commentonly
Written by Commentonly
Published | Edited 9th Oct 2019
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