The Imp Path

The Imp Of Ivy

Tickling her way through the moss in the Spring
young imp bursts forth into the light of day
Winding a path from the trunk to the crown
by Summer’s end she will be free to kiss the sky
Ivy ympe 
Waving in the wind and waltzing in the rain
she feels for her ancient oak, making his life sensational
Her ecstatic cling informs his essential being
Thus he knows in the densest way just why his sap stirs so

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Hesse: For Trees Eyes Only

a favorite author Hesse

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured.”

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The Making Of Sir Willow

Bruce Marlin

♪ ♫ ♪

Stealing a glance under my branch,
I spied a green-eyed lady,
as if, by Chance, or Fate’s romance,
she found me cool and shady.

I heard her sigh for times gone by,
her breath grew slow and steady.
I knew not why, but in her cry,
old tears stood at the ready.

Releasing all, the rain did fall
on ruddy roots and timber.
Like thunder calls that break down walls;
like leaves turn in September.

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