On A Park Bench Prior to Joining A Dragon-Fly East

August 3, 2015

I sat in the park a few moments–a break from life–my groceries with me and saw the shade hovering to 6 pm upon the trees. Losing the sun I watched each bark and how trees were placed. Likely over three centuries old, I noticed the strength of each tree, rooted, individual, unique and yet in communication with others. Some of the same family and others of a different strand? I came to shock about how much they existed in tandem and yet held their unique being. Each set of rooted trunk, each set of branches and how their leaves kept themselves connected, deciduous or not. Wandering in a forest, this can be overwhelming and difficult to notice from an objective point of view unless studies over countless moments and times, no doubt, much like those who’ve wandered this terrain for thousand or more years. Though, today I sat in a park with tress lined and cross lined and apart. From it’s urban set-up to it’s natural placement, I couldn’t help but understand how trees are so much like people–intricacies, complexities, DNAs, histories, and each tree suddenly spoke to me; then as a group–an entourage (no, this isn’t the show, sorry to disappoint and Friends went out of style over a decade ago.) As I listened to some and then a few together and because I’m entrenched, muddled over the details, the complexities, the inherent co-existence of east and west my mind wandered to earth–the possibilities of catastrophic earthquakes and the dependency between capitalism and communism–I saw without doubt that the trees do agree. Together and apart perhaps one was a little unsure but it was a younger tree, or so I felt. I came across a DRANGONFLY, gosh! my first this summer and it was flying so comfortably in the Parkette by St. Clair and Bathurst. I watched it and thought about how our scientists have surmised over 100,000 years ago Dragonflies were larger than humans and I imagined it next to me. The thought couldn’t avoid the trembles of fear. Yet, it’s so unreal to me. Imaginative–even now. I watched Dragon-Fly’ss smallness today and how everything from grass to tree has moved. I watched the trees again–how they continue to stand, move and speak. I thought about one world and then another and I watched the people walking and suddenly death spoke to me. It reminded me that I decided to buy a really good bottle of wine. Yes, how mundane in comparison…but the trees and their message(s) went to Communism and Capitalism. A Co-dependent need they keep. The trees suddenly became more important. Why? Because I’m holding the human condition for my journey east. Because they’re grounding and wine is just a fervour. I’m holding reverence for how really awesome being here is. O I’m getting sentimental…that doesn’t serve well in (North) American Lit. More conceptualism required and less trees or was that pulp? 


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