Better Sometimes to Fall
A poem about letting go
The roots gave way and the tall pine
began its path to forest floor,
but propped, before its full decline,
against an oak, and fell no more.
And there it stayed, for years on end,
by wind and sun dried out and bleached,
a phantom of where all life tends
had it its destination reached.
For had it fallen to the ground,
Nature would have caused decay,
and nourished everything around,
a beetle banquet where it lay.
No longer would it be a tree,
but nutrient in rot’s disguise;
its deepest truth would be set free
for life would spring from its demise.
I won’t fear letting go, or death,
for Nature’s iron rule applies:
a grain of wheat is not itself
till in the earth it falls and dies.
Thank you for reading, my friends.
The tree in the photo is not a pine but an oak, and it’s not propped against anything, I know. I wrote this poem years ago, and it returned to me because there are downed trees everywhere in western NC and Asheville; and because I am in states of transition.
