ode to strangers

a friend of a friend wrote this one:

for strangers, i am thankful.
how many millions of forest trees
had i glanced at in passing
before exchanging secrets of life?
before taking their butterscotch scent to my dreams?
before hearing the fears locked inside their swaying needles
that tickle the back of my neck?
before trusting them to filter the drops
from my own inner storms-
bringing out in them the scent of rebirth
before handing them to gravity to anoint my head?

with my eyes on the trail, i did not see,
that under the surface,
our roots embrace and share their meals,
and i am one of you.

with my eyes on the trail,
i could not see
that we both reeeeeeeach our budding arms like toddlers
to wave at the same passing birds and planes.

with my eyes to the sky,
i could never see,
that together
we dig our toes into the earth from which we were born,
letting its ancient, recycling mysteries
squish in every crevice
as we abandon fear of buried broken glass.

with my eyes on the trail,
i failed to see
that together
we bend harmoniously through unexpected storms.
and though summer hail may rip holes in our leaves
where we once harvested the sun,
our roots will explore further into our collective soul
from which we came
and find gifts of sustenance
from the rocks,
the ants,
the remains of our mothers.

we can innocently flirt
as the wind pulls our branches together
if we let our eyes meet in early, care-free summers.

and side by side on hot days,
we can invite squirrels to watch soccer
from our shady shoulders,
and stretch lazily
as they tickle and scratch our dry skin.

we scatter our wisdom
in the form of seeds-
intertwined echoes from anonymous voices,
like the broken shells that create beaches
for swimming and universe pondering.
later, we'll donate the old cones
to children's art projects.

beside each other,
we wait for autumn to bring our womanhood
as we watch our childhood fall from our bodies
in blood-red leaves
raked into backyard mountains
summited by tigers and astronauts on halloween.

and though winter tries
to isolate us from one another with its snow,
wee find humor and joy
in flinging it at an innocent passer-by,
watching it reflect onto the mountains
the shock of his skin
in thousands of frozen suncatchers
as he abandons for a moment
where he came from,
where he was going,
to admire our dusty limbs above.

and when spring arrives,
we praise the subtle growth
of our friends returning home.
and we dance in celebration
as our pores re-open
to share the scent of our blossoms.

and as snow turns to rain,
we ar only able to embrace it but a second
before it is carried on
by the vagabond clouds
to quench the thirst of our distant sisters
with longer or shorter leaves,
rougher or smoother bark,
colored different shades by the same sun.
and maybe we'll enclose a secret note
with the water rising from us
asking what colors
are mirrored in the sunsets there,
and thanking them
for all they give
to those who stop to smell their bark.