Science  Write  Now

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There is a shape to trees, to this tree, long legs, thin waist, 
head, hair, eyes, it’s all there – tree person, person tree.

Bark bristles below my feet, dust spatters the air with every 
shake of the branch. Pop! as a gum nut flings itself onto the floor.
Voice tree, tree voice, vocal chords of phylum and xylem quiver.
Movement tree, tree movement, in time, through time, before and
beyond time. Can this all too solid flesh melt into trunk, into flesh and 
muscle and bones – and disinterest?

A breeze of purpose and accident floats through limbs and heartwood
curls of leaves, ‘V’s of twigs, tree chatter, dry, pink, brown.

And watching it all in the pool’s reflection, four centuries of light 
bounce into air. There is a world of life and living 
below the soil, soaked in the rub of stones and pockets 
of water and air, a story buried in composting leaves and bodies, 
worms and beetles, memories of footsteps and
birthing blood staining the feet of this tree

Cleansing stench of fire, quickfire steps, fire’s black and harsh remnants
and choke on new breath and old memories, as gum bleeds from heat scars.

And buds bleed from heart scars grieve old endings, new beginnings.