My Precious Squirrel: Memory of a Tree

I was born at the edge of a field that captured the shadows at sunset I was an adolescent, when I watched men plant odd, angular rocks where a strange, hollow tree sprouted, maturing unnaturally fast. I was disturbed to see the creature’s marrow shape, no rings, only a labyrinth of vertical and horizontal lines An alien cousin perhaps… It was some time after the strange tree formed bark that I saw it glow for the first time… So many eerie eyes glaring like creatures of the dark I was chilled to my roots In summer people came, squirrels with two legs, they busily made a nest there and the tree howled and laughed by day, and watched with bright, vigilant eyes at night The smallest squirrel often wandered away and came into the grove of my ancestors and climbed into my arms; she seemed so strong but when she nestled into a crook and watched the clouds roll over hilltops seemed so small and fragile, the weight of her thoughts heavier than the weight of her body She came when the sun scoured the field and before the rain alone, unafraid her face always a storm of contemplation. Sometimes, she would talk to me, tracing my wrinkles, asking questions and seeming as if she understood the whispered replies from my leaves and the creaky laughter of my branches. She made me special. She could have sought the cradling branches any other, but she chose me, claimed me as her secret. Her chubby fingers and tiny feet tickled my existence until she no longer climbed. Instead, she warmed my roots As she stared into the hills, a magic branch pressed the contours of the valley onto sheaves of white leaves replacing her voice. I imagined her rings forming, perfect, wise circles, though no wrinkles etched her bark she was changing so fast… And then she came no more, none of the squirrels came, the strange tree stood abandoned even when I was dressed in respectable summer green and I thought, perhaps she had found more interesting landscapes. But one day, she returned, the same and yet very different and brought with her two small squirrels, each resembling her They brought laughter into the grove, climbing branches and squealing in delight and my old friend once again settled at my roots with her magic stick and white leaves, writing and drawing me into her memories just as my precious squirrel was already ingrained in the very rings of my heart.