Having stood on shore
I watched the flow
It was time
To let go of my anger
Stepped into a river
To swim and float the current
I let go
Swept along
Tread, scull,
Bob into an eddy
I drift back into the main channel
Anger lifted
Author: Tom Stock Page 9 of 30
Tom Stock has been involved in the Long Island environmental and outdoor education community for decades.
He has published two books; THE NISSEQUOGUE RIVER: A JOURNEY and HIDDEN AGENDA; A POETRY JOURNEY. He has also published many essays and poems in such journals as the Long Island Forum and The Long Islander.
The landscape reminds us.
On a low Long Island,
A hilly moraine east to west
.
It inched forward, inched back,
Melted and evaporated in slow recession,
Leaving marks
Beaches, cobbles, clay, and sand.
In the North Country
Rounded mountains and gravel deposits
It scraped, scoured, scratched
Carried plucked boulders south.
Mid-state, long fingers
In gouged valleys,
Eskers and drumlins
Are all that remains of
Old Man Glacier.
A flat fluid place under the forces of wind a long fetch on flat liquid / water moves as wind pushes / wash-boarded / each wavelet subdivided into wave miniatures / those into smaller wavelets / waves upon more waves / rebounds against a bulkhead/ ripples over ripples – textures and sub textures / upheaval everywhere / serious water / a mysterious windless spot surrounded by ripples / moments later – replaced by corduroy / I hang out at this cove / crests, troughs, amplitudes, frequencies / no computer can simulate the ever-changing surface of water / chameleon water / we can see wind on the incessant, restless, seething water
There was the potential for water
In the chemistry of nuclei
Positive hydrogen; negative oxygen
Floating around in early universe
Obeying physical laws
Of the very beginning of
A primordial bang that started it all
The randomness, creativity, and diversity
A communion of two hydrogen and an oxygen nuclei
The electronic joining, the first water molecule
The instantaneous creation of WATER
The universe was ready for this.
Within the confines of the molten Earth
A steam cloud enveloped this new world
Cooling led to rain, to lakes, then oceans,
Life.
Across from the library
A noble beech tenaciously grips earth
Its wide base two yards across
The gray bark a frozen lava flow
Of wrinkled, aged flesh
Century old tree
Better than the books inside
Its inner self presses against smooth bark
One limb a tight tourniquet against
A strangled, muscular arm
A mighty, strong thing
Massive will power
Clean of carvings
On a late November’s early afternoon
It’s a stocky weight lifter
Hoisting itself skyward
A clean and jerk against gravity
A ready to launch rocket
For a space journey
I wish to be this tree
Silent, confident, successful
Its elephant eye branch mark
Staring at me
It glances at a passerby
Head down on their screened devise
My uncle Hugh liked to play with words. For example humidity. Because humidity had such a huge impact on me, a 77 year old, I had to process the effects in this essay.
Yesterday, I was rendered useless! My whole day was a series of long naps. I lay with small pools of sweat deposited in my eye sockets.
Turning the pages of the newspaper was no problem; the sticky side of my left underarm did the trick. No matter how many times I washed my face, it felt cool for a few minutes, then reverted to sticky, icky, discomfort. I could not wash away the humidity.
SEEDS: kidney-shaped, 5/8 inches long; on the concave curve, the portal for water to enter and start growth is on the concave center.
GERMINATION: Wet soil comes in contact with the cotyledons, tiny leaf and root. The two cotyledons begin to swell. They split open the seed coat; the tiny leaves and roots swell.
The hills in Manorville
primitive and isolated
contain certain peace
if you go, you’ll feel it
a few minutes after
leaving the parking lot
profound calm
not easy to find
places like this
easy to get lost
and find yourself
a peace that’s always available
waits for you
carries stress aloft
oak trees still as stone
gray lichen-covered boulders
here and there
waxy striped wintergreen flowers
and huge swaths of bracken fern
guaranteed
I walked around the edge of the parking at Manorville Hills County Parking lot to pick up litter while awaiting Mark’s arrival. I found a Deptford Pink plant near the kiosk. This flower is a tiny pinnacle on the very top of a tall grass-like stem. Unless you are curious with good powers of observation and always looking for a new discovery, you’d probably miss this plant. I didn’t. The tiny pink, five petal flower is a shock because it is so small. It blabs its minute spot of color. I always look closer. The petals are pointed. Although it is a non native, I readily accept it as a native. It comes from the British Isles named after the town of Deptford, north of London.
The NYS DEC sent us five saplings as part of their wildlife habitat improvement program. We got crab apple, wild black cherry, vibernum, witch hazel, and a white spruce tree. I planted them and forgot about them. Two years later, we transplanted the crab apple, and the white spruce.
The white spruce ( poor little tree) ended up in the far corner of the driveway, near giant Hosta plants. Two years later, I decided to see how the tree was doing. I spread Hosta leaves and found my poor little tree.
It was alive. I must have stepped on it when I was pruning nearby. The trunk was slanted. The tree had needles and was healthy, but I felt guilty that I had provided it with a better place. I promptly top dressed with compost; propped it up, and watered. I cut away Hosta leaves. Since it was early summer, we decided to leave the tree in place and transplant it in the fall. I found a spot near the front gate. We intend to clear a 12 foot circle of lawn and develop it into a native wildflower garden with our poor little tree the centerpiece.
I promised myself “This will be your last move. You will flourish. Sidewalk passersby will admire your beauty. We will not decorate you at Christmastime. You are already decorated. You have two huge neighbors, a cypress and redwood will look over you and eventually you will reach your mature height. You will remind us of the mountainsides upstate where you prefer to grow.
So, poor little tree, before long, you will not be poor and you will not be little. You will create shade, bird perches and maybe a nesting place; you will provide oxygen to the atmosphere and take carbon dioxide from the air. We apologize and will not call you “poor little tree” any longer. You are a WHITE SPRUCE tree.