Making Sense

Finding what makes sense
In senseless times
Takes grounding
Sometimes quite literally
In the two inches of humus
Faithfully recreating itself
Every hundred years.
It takes steadying oneself
Upon shale and clay and solid rock
Swearing allegiance to an ageless aquifer
Betting on all the still hidden springs.

You can believe in a tree,
With its broad-leafed perspective,
Dedicated to breathing in, and then out,
Reaching down, and then up,
Drinking in a goodness above and below
Its splayed and mossy feet.
You can trust a tree’s careful
and drawn out way
of speaking.
One thoughtful sentence, covering the span of many seasons.

A tree doesn’t hurry, it doesn’t lie, 
It knows how to stand true to itself 
Unselfconscious of its beauty and scars, 
And all the physical signs of where 
and when it needed to bend,
Rather than break.
A tree stands solitary and yet in deepest communion,
For in the gathering of the many, 
There is comfort and courage, 
Perseverance and protection, 
From the storms that howl down from predictable 
Or unexplainable directions.    

In a senseless time
Hold close to what never stopped
Making sense.
Like love
Like trees
Like how a seed becomes a branch
And compost becomes seedlings again.
Like the scent at the very top of an infant’s head
Because there is nothing more right than that. Nothing.

It is all still happening
Even now.
Even now.

Carrie Newcomer, janicefalls.wordpress.com/blog