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Reasoning Seasons

by Kyle Anne Kish

The still young oak tree
had lived through almost
40 seasons, was well into
its tenth autumn and soon
to be tenth winter.  It
reveled in the crisp
caramel colored leaves
dappled beneath, but
was tryiing terribly hard
not to shed its remaining
shade of auburns
and flourescent yellows.

Father and son walked hand
in hand, as scorched leaves
crunched beneath their feet.
The still young boy had lived
through almost 20 seasons,
was well into his fifth autumn
and soon to be fifth winter.
He reveled in his Father's
attention, ran ahead of him
and scooped up two armfuls
of leaves and threw them over
his head.  "Look, Dad,"
he laughed, "it's raining leaves."

It whispered quietly to the
barren forest, "I don't
want to sleep through
another winter.  I want
to experience the feel
of soft snow drifting
around my base, the tinge
of ice weighing down my
branches, while the glow
of the moon makes me
shine like a bejeweled
spectacle of beauty
and significance.

The boy plopped down under
a still young oak tree.  He
looked high into its almost
bare branches and asked
his Father, "Why do the
trees have to sleep through
winter, Dad?"  His Dad
replied, "Nature has its own
way of taking care of all living
things, including us, son."  "You
mean the tree is being protected
by sleeping, Dad?"  "That's
exactly right.  It sleeps so it
can prepare to grow and
prosper throughout the three
seasons it has to stay awake,"
said his Father.

The forest's gentle breeze
whistled back, You are
but a tree.  Nature has
supplied you with all
you need to know,
given you the gift
of life and there are
no decisions to be made
on your part.  Be who you
are ... just be who you are.

"How does nature take care
of me, Dad?"  The boy's
Father sat, twirled the stem
of a fallen leaf in his hand
and replied, "Nature has
provided you with the gift
of life.  You will grow like this
tree grows, but your growth
will be much different.  You
aren't anchored to the ground
and you sleep at night rather
than through the winter season."
"How do I have to help the life
that nature has given me, Dad?"
The Father ruffled his son's hair,
smiled softly and stated,
"Be who you are, son ...
just be who you are."

But the tree tried to hang
onto its leaves as they
slowly kept dropping
to the ground ... one
at a time, swirling and
traveling on the swift air
currents, which turned
into brazen icy breezes.
Finally, one dubious
parchment thin leaf
remained, which the wind
blew oh-so-delicately
to the ground as
the joyful songs of
praise rose from the
earth and, despite the
oak's tenacious attempts,
as the first small snowflakes
began their gradual descent,
it fell into a deep slumber.

An old man and his grandson
walked among the forest,
hand in hand.  The old man had lived
more seasons than he could
possibly remember, but his
grandson, at six years old,
was looking many years ahead.

The tree no longer grappled
over a long winter's slumber.
It had lived more seasons
than it could possibly remember,
but that was okay.  Springtime
was always filled with renewal
and growth.  It swayed
melodically to-and-fro,
because the wind sang
beautiful lullabies.

"Grandpa," the boy spoke while
standing below the large oak tree,
"why are all these dead leaves
here when it's springtime?"  His
Grandpa smiled and remembered
brightly colored leaves from
many, many autumn's before.
He slowly picked up a handful
of crumpled leaves and tossed
them in the air and laughed.  "They
are just leftovers from last autumn,
Billy.  They are crumbling
and returning to the earth to make
more rich soil.  Nature has a plan
for everything, Billy."

The oak pitched
quietly in agreement.

The boy looked up in awe at the huge
oak tree and nodded in agreement
.

The tree waited
patiently.  It waited
for the question.
Surely, it would
be ready, along
with the rest
of the forest
when it came.

"Does nature have a plan
for me, Grandpa?"

Yes!  The oak
heard the
question.

"Of course, Billy," replied his
Grandpa.  Then Grandpa knelt
down and whispered into Billy's ear
.

That's it, thought
the old oak.  That's
exactly it!

"Be who you are, Billy ...
just be who you are."

And in unison the old oak
along with the rest of the forest,

spoke like silk, as the old
man repeated ...
"Be who you are ...

Just be who you are."

11/19/2006

Posted on 11/19/2006
Copyright © 2024 Kyle Anne Kish

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by A. Paige White on 11/19/06 at 09:48 PM

Another awesome adventure from your pen...and favorites bound...
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Posted by Alisa Js on 01/05/07 at 07:47 PM

this one does speak to the importance of personal empowerment, loved it!...aloha..;-)

Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 01/28/07 at 06:38 PM

The counting of seasons is a beautiful element of this and gives it an unusual and "traditional tale" feeling to me. The form is also original and obviously generated by the content, the fonts distinguishing the voices and the format very effective! I am happy I found this! Illustrates your comments on how your "form chooses you"!

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 08/28/07 at 03:07 PM

I finally refound this exceptional beauty! I love every nth of this! Especially love:

And in unison the old oak
along with the rest of the forest,
spoke like silk, as the old
man repeated ...
"Be who you are ...
Just be who you are."

Another home for this is in my favorites folder ;)

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