Dendrology

Surveying northern autumn afternoon Pitcherelli, ex-marine, body-builder, Lussier, long-haired father of three dark-skinned children and myself, sharp-edged loner, ex-lover of a fair share of women are belly-laughing in the dying sun. Clouds. The crew, in timber. Laughing over recent visits to marvelous cities where we could not keep ourselves from touching the terminal buds of numerous exotic trees and attracting ridicule of stylish girls and tame boyfriends. Pitcherelli before the Albany bus station shaking hands with a red pine planted thirty years ago. Lussier, one hand in a child's hand and the other feeling scabrous bark of urban woody plants. Myself among partially shaved heads and leathery aromatic jackets getting close to the hairy bud of an unidentified poplar or sycamore. People laughed, but we laughed best back on our mountain under the blackening weather.