The Cottonwood Tree

is true

 

The Cottonwood Tree

 

In my backyard there stands an old Cottonwood Tree

most of the limbs twisted, brown, leafless every year.

There are a few on which there are leaves which are still

green, where life in this giant continues to fight to survive.

In time, with years of aging, standing against winds,

a covering of ice from frozen winter rains, and snow,

which sometimes covered every branch and made Old

Cottonwood appeared as though Mother Nature had

become an artist whose pallet had held one color, white.

A few years ago there were other trees standing around Old

Cottonwood Tree which had also reached the end of their

time, no longer able to stand in the wind, a danger to others

if they should fall onto homes, or other young trees around them

just beginning their lives and just beginning to firmly fasten new

young roots into the rocky soil at their base.

Looking carefully at Old Cotton Tree through the few green

living branches and slowly viewing from the base of the tree

to trees top, you would see that Old Cottonwood Tree

actually had no top. Old Cottonwood Trees top was gone.

Cut off cleanly, with a chain saw sometime in years past.

As other trees which had died were cut to the ground,

Old Cottonwood was spared full removal, and although now

stood, looking kind of funny in Summertime, still stood proud

showing the beautiful green leaves it could still produce.

Because of a hole in one side of this tree, where winter cold

caused a knot to split, loosen and fall out, forming a cave like

opening in the place where the knot had once been. This

small opening was the reason Old Cottonwood Tree still stood.

This was a home, a place of safety, a place to keep dry, a place

to find warmth, a reason for Old Cottonwood Tree.

There, up there, at the very top, sometime moving, a small,

very small, it’s a bushy tail flip flopping in excitement as it

chatter’s in warning to a huge Blackbirds to stay away.

A squirrel standing firm, guarding her home, saying this is

mine, go find your own. Then as the birds move on to a

new place to continue their noise, little squirrel moves from

top of Old Cottonwood, down, then crawls into the opening

which grandmother used, her mother used, and she now

uses to give birth and raise her young.

The home below in the middle of this tall stump has been

around for near fifty years, Old Cottonwood Tree, has been

here for so many years longer. The once taller, grand old

tree has been home to generation, after generation of

these small critters. Their play, running across fence tops,

across fresh mowed lawns, eating from dried ears of corn placed

out for them, has been a joy to observe.

Their favorite are the sunflower seeds. It is this

seed they take first, but if a unshelled peanut is mixed in

with the food placed out for them, they can be seen hiding the

peanut for a later eating. They always rush back to the black

sunflower seeds as this is the main course.

The old Cottonwood Tree still stands because of that hole,

that small cave in it’s side thirty feet above earth’s ground.

Home to little critter’s whose play has brought a little joy

to those whose home was built near their tree.

The little friends who are our neighbors who every year

begin life anew by giving birth and raising their babies in

their home in that Grand Old Cottonwood Tree.

No one ask for permission to disturb their lives, nor could they,

but the tree was here first, and will remain where it now stands

for many, many more years to come.

 

.

Author's Note

The tree still stands, still home to my little friends.

Reviews

[Michelle Tarnowski]

There are many years of watching in this story.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A lovely story/poem. We have an old buckeye tree in our alley which sounds much like your cottonwood tree, which i also wrote a poem about. It will be a sad day when she gets cut down. Thank you for sharing your wonderful writing. Debileah