Confiding in a Friend
CONFIDING IN A FRIEND
By Esta Grossman
I am troubled—
sad, scared,
uncertain, angry.
I must speak to the tall,
stately oak tree
in the nearby woods.
She can help; she always does.
She’s a good listener.
I sit on the loamy forest floor,
snuggle against her giant trunk,
begin my woeful tale.
But our private conversation
is not private.
Leaves of the nearby trees
rustle as I sob with distress,
although there is no wind
or even a breeze to move them.
The branches of my friend and
her neighbors sway as if
to embrace me and offer
protection and succor when I
reveal my fears.
The earth flows
almost imperceptively,
powered by vibrations that
move the soil on
an underground network
stretched between the giant trees.
The strange movements of the
leaves, branches, earth
sync with our conversation.
We are not alone; others
have joined in.
They are rude to
listen to sharing
between old friends.
Sensing my displeasure,
the soil sends a vibration
up my legs, through my body,
to my head; I suddenly
understand.
My oak is getting help for me
from her neighbors.
I relax, resume my story,
feeling heard and cared for by
the community of trees.