It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.
Even in this
you will have to choose.
That great calm thing,
this clutter of soup pots and books ---
Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.
This poem by Jane Hirshfield came to mind a little while ago when reading an article in today's NYTimes about a group who are planting small sprouts of redwoods and sequoias. What a sense of patience of hope those people have. More power to them.
A short walk from where my daughter lives in Larkspur, California there is a house I've thopught I'd like to live in each time I've seen it, a redwood does grow beside it, and a wooden deck surrounds the tree. I'd love to sit on that deck with the tree as companion while I drink my coffee, read a book, wrote a poem.
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