Sitting in the Redwoods

Three hundred feet tall
Thirteen hundred years old
I sit on a bench
In the Armstrong Forest
I look up at this tree
They gave it a name
Parson Jones Tree

There is a light breeze
A fly buzzing
Sounds of footsteps
Human tourists walking by

I hear a creak
Sounds like a door opening
A tree somewhere
One among thousand
Bends slightly to the wind
Alone I walk in these woods
Alone I sit on this bench
Alone I write
With my brown and green friends

My fellow humans
Compare size and age
This one the biggest
This one fat
This one thin
Oh my god
This one a thousand years old

The trees in return
Have much to say
They respond with silence
With the sound of birds
With comforting shade
The rhythmic movement of leaves
Shimmering in the sun

A wooden bench
In a shaded spot
Provides a welcome break
For tired legs