A change of seasons and our Poet Laura
As I write these thoughts in the last few days of October, here in New Jersey the weather is humid and well into the 70’s. It’s our first sunny Saturday in 7 weekends, and a light breeze rustles fallen leaves on the lawn. Perhaps summer is having second thoughts about closing for the year, maybe autumn is feeling friendly and relinquishes the stage for a day or two. I’m sitting in my partially unpacked home office, empty walls and corners awaiting decoration, storage solutions and, most important, inspiration for writing work to be started (and completed). I’ve received the feather hand-off from Dheepa, our Poet Laura from last year, and am ready for poetry to guide me through these next 12 months with you, Readers, as Tweetspeak’s next Poet Laura.
So much change in a season! To some extent, if we live with forward motion, a level of transition always exists in our lives. Some change is welcomed, some resisted, some causes upheaval and some projects us on a new journey. I’ve had my own changeovers recently, having just completed (but not unpacked) my second of two moves in under a year. Both times, the condos where I’ve rented have been sold. The first took me from a place I loved living, to a place I less-than-loved (a LOT less) for 10 months. Now, I’m back in the neighborhood that feels like home. Just in time for autumn.
I am not going to ruminate on the many lessons in “surrender” I embraced this past year. No re-wrapping them in paper and boxes for basement storage, just tossing them with the trash, bundling them with the recycling.
I want to be free, like the tree
who forgets the storm, each leaf,
before winter sleep
—Michelle Ortega, from “shadowSelf”
I’ve gotten out of the habit of daily walking for all the reasons this year, but now it’s time to re-establish my practice. The trees in my neighborhood are established and well cared for. They line the streets that wind through the complex, and stand aglow as the sun rises each day. Morning light never gets old, does it? Full of possibility, the gift of a new day. Fog and vibrant yellows, fiery reds decorate the path, scatter like confetti at my feet. It’s a discipline of gratitude for health and strength, and a sort of homecoming. While I make progress toward my daily walking on this goal, I’ll use Treecard, a “walk to plant” app. It’s free to use, and easily connects with my iPhone to count steps. 10,000 steps plants a tree, in my online world as well as in reality. So far I’ve planted 20 trees with my steps: Acacia, Fir, Mangrove, Palm, Banana and Cacao. My little island on the app is reforesting, and releasing nutrients back into the air.
Sometimes I just don’t remember that trees that I cherish are the source for all the paper I consume. Not just me, of course, because poets tend to use a notoriously high amount of paper. I must confess to the blatant overuse of paper by drafting the same work again and again, reprinting a poem after I’ve changed one comma, or one em dash. I’ve recently committed to just marking the work in pen, and only reprinting when a clean copy is needed for submission. Progress made, one page at a time.
***
One of my favorite images in the woods is that of fallen trees, when their trunks are held by the branches of another. Just as the root system connects and communicates below the soil, neighboring trees help usher the broken toward earth. Fallen limbs and broken branches turn depleted soil into richness, provide food for insects and shelter for beings close to the ground.
No words to pray, but each breath drawn beyond my lungs offered
for those who step into the next life, unheld, unseen. For those that
cling like dry leaves on a tree through winter. For those bent in the
storm who do not break, but care for the ones who fall.
—Michelle Ortega, from “Marcescence”
***
Do you have a favorite tree? I love the delicate fan-like veins of the gingko leaf, and the wispy maroons of the Japanese Maple. But as for the tree itself, my favorite is the Weeping Beech. These giant trees are easy to pass by in the local arboretum; the cascade of slender branch and leaf hides the tree’s architecture, unless you are curious enough to explore. I find myself drawn to the space under the tree. The Weeping Beech branches curve toward the earth, sending an invitation not to climb, necessarily, like to the Oak or Maple, but to “come in.” Listen. Look at the knots on the branches and see what creatures emerge. Sit on the lowered branch and rest. A low-draping curve wants to hold you, arms up, with your back supported. Play. Hang from this medium branch. Lift your feet off the ground, do you dare?
Your Turn
This month, become acquainted with a tree in your yard or in a neighborhood space. Experience the tree at different times of the day. Lay beside it, lay beneath it. Sketch it. Free write in a journal about it. Write a poem, if you dare!
maiden-mother-crone
draped from sky to ground,
elegant branches gently
part, invite me to slip
under her canopy where
damp air suspends
honeysuckle and bark
and earth; my eyes
water at the sweetness
while sunlight refracts
through her crown,
each leaf a jewel;
gnarled toe-roots bear
her pillared trunk; initials
carved long ago, turned
keloid––beyond the scars,
love lingers;
I recline in the crook
of an outstretched limb,
feet off the ground, wait
for her to lift me into the heat
and light but we are still,
the hush-rustle of a breeze
her breath and mine;
this threshold a slow becoming
—Michelle Ortega
Photo by Mark Gunn, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Michelle Ortega. “Marcescence” published Poetry in Response to the Pandemic, May 2020, St Michael’s Episcopal Church, Arlington VA. “maiden-mother-crone”published in Snapdragon: A Journal of Healing, Fall 2021. All poems by Michelle Ortega, used by permission.
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Laura Boggess says
Welcome, Poet Laura Michelle! I’m excited to hold your words in the coming year! Also, I love this invitation and may just take you up on it…
Michelle Ortega says
Hi Laura! So good of you to stop by! 😉 I know you’ll find a new forest friend…you’re so sensitive to nature’s delightful details.
Megan Willome says
So happy you are carrying the mantle this year! And loving the poems you’ve shared here.
Michelle Ortega says
Hi Megan, it will be lovely to pass the year here with so many friends! Thanks for your kind words. 🙂
Bethany Rohde says
Delighted to read your words and see you in this role, Michelle!
I love the observations you shared about dear fallen trees and their companions. I looked up your favorite tree, the Weeping Beech, to see images and how it might differ from the Weeping Willow (which I loved coloring as a kid).
Love what you say here, “The Weeping Beech branches curve toward the earth, sending an invitation not to climb, necessarily, like to the Oak or Maple, but to “come in.” Listen. . . . Sit on the lowered branch and rest. A low-draping curve wants to hold you, arms up, with your back supported. Play. . . .”
Yes, something about the way these trees create an otherworldly room for visitors to dwell is special. That living shelter reminds me of a tiny cut-up poem I wrote a while back called, “Dip into the spoon of an oak,” published on the Emily D. Tea Traveler site. https://emilydteatraveler.com/nature-tea-poem-dip-into-the-spoon-of-an-oak/
I’m looking forward to reading more of your writing this year. Pouring you a cup of coffee as you write, unpack, and/or rest…
Michelle Ortega says
Hi Bethany, I love that you remember I’m a coffee drinker 😉 thank you for including the link to your poem…the alchemy of found poems, you’ve created an exquisite moment, here. Magic! I will marinate in “the spoon of an oak” and “emerald air” this afternoon.
Bethany says
Michelle, thank you so much! Hope your week goes well. 🙂 [Clinking coffee mugs]
Dheepa Maturi says
Welcome, Michelle, our new Poet Laura! I so enjoyed this month’s lovely musings–I felt like I was with you on a beautiful autumn walk, full of sunshine and exquisite poetry!
Michelle Ortega says
Thank you, Dheepa! I’m delighted to have you walk along with me and to read my words. 🙂
L.L. Barkat says
Welcome to your Poet Laura Year, Michelle! 🙂 So happy to be walking with you and poetry for the months ahead.
I hadn’t thought about the nuance of the weeping trees, as you note: “The Weeping Beech branches curve toward the earth, sending an invitation not to climb, necessarily, like to the Oak or Maple, but to ‘come in.’” But I do know I’ve always loved the various kinds: willow, cherry, and some I don’t know the names of. And I’m going to be thinking about how a curve of weeping might be an invitation to Enter.
What a totally cool “walk to plant” app, too. How did you find it? Have you tried any of the products?
Lifting a teacup to you (and helping to unpack some boxes). Again, welcome. 🙂
Michelle Ortega says
Hi Laura! I love the language of trees. 🙂 And I think I just searched for a walking app, and Treecard appeared. I don’t remember specifically how I found it! When I accumulate enough (100) points, I choose the option to remove plastic from oceans, so my steps have a double impact.