Trees Passing

Photo: Denizli, Turkey, near the ancient Hierapolis, said to have been founded by Apollo

Long years ago, half a world away, the girl I was then watched

an unvarying wilderness of jackpines, yearned for a larger life,

The bus travelled inland, windows closed against the cold,

Jackpines gave way to forests of birch and alder.

Then, in the dry half-desert of the Cariboo,

sparse long-needled ponderosa pines.

Later, as slanting rain thrashed ferry windows

I marvelled at arbutuses, thin bark peeling

as they clung contorted over island cliffs dropping to the Gulf of Georgia.

Then Mexico, tall unkempt ungainly palms, faded fronds drooping

and the sand beneath them littered with green coconuts.

Now on steep dry hills I savour the scent of Mediterranean pines.

Hot wind blows through bus windows;

red dust carries the fragrance of eucalyptus.

Unfamiliar leafy trees bow down in dappled shade,

salute the rich red earth that nourishes them.

We are coming into a settlement now.

On one side of the road hunch ranks of dusty olives;

on the other, orange trees droop,

weighed down with their still-green fruit.

Trees passing – seen from so many windows as I travel the roads of my life.