The tree in the park
The rain has drowned the grass. New lakes and puddles have formed in grassy spots where previously dogs played whilst people lounged. The ducks: two males, two females, eyed each other up in the new playing arena, dogs dangerously close were ignored with splashy webbed feet enjoying the phenomenon of grassy, and glassy lakefulness.
Now, in the sun, the park runs with circular walkers: the tree lies to the south. A storm (at some point in the past) had partly felled it, still, with the root ball exposed, the tree was in full leaf: flowered candles green but starting to break out from their bounds. Branches from the tree have embedded themselves in the ground. Not insubstantial, mostly with girth greater than a man’s thigh they support the tree in its awkwardness. It is a tree that sat down, limbs akimbo.
A metaphor for our planet: we have exposed the roots, but it’s still hanging on, for now …
