a question for tamarisk

Sometimes, humans like to speculate

about what makes humans

so unique, and special, and different from

everybody else

 

It is a good question

so, this afternoon, while exploring the subliminal mysteries

of a canyon, i asked a stately Tamarisk tree

what she thought of it

 

While I was waiting for a reply

I noticed her small pink flowers

wind-dancing so sensuously the bees

could not help but join their bodies with her

until she sends them home

drunk on pollen and passion

 

I touched her bark

delicately veiled with spiders webs

the parade of ants climbing her chest

the caterpillar navigating the folds

of her belly

and i felt the earth tilt

a little

 

I felt her roots

dark and knotted

wedded to the soil in such a profound way

i could not honestly tell you

where she ended and the canyon

began

 

As I kneeled and caressed the ground at our

feet, thick with decomposing leaves

a bed for coyotes and deer

food for grubs

gifts to the land

my stomach lurched

and i knew i was in trouble

 

If Tamarisk does not begin at her root

tendrils or end at

flowers, then to whom

do I address

my question?

 

I am not long for this world

 

 

 

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