Last year was hard on a beautiful tree in our garden – the late snow, followed by drought, killed a cotoneaster that gave us shade in the summer. The bees loved its blossom, and the birds came in late winter for the berries. We had fieldfares and redwings hungrily stripping it when the fields froze. And another tree too, a cedar, that was rather cramped in, died in the drought. It had lovely grey green leaves, and was a favourite perch of the pigeons who watch for food.
So this poem is a tribute, a thank you, to the trees. I was intending to write about both, and gave it the title I did because I pulled on the rope that brought down the cedar, but it was one tree that ended up filling the space. I’ve kept the title, in a kind of echo of another poem, Pulling up trees , as it seemed to work for this one too.
The garden looks so different without them, and I couldn’t bear to have the cotoneaster taken out completely right away. I wanted something to remember it, and some time to adjust to the loss of it. I’ve been thinking of replacing it with an apple tree or two, to echo the shape, and the bark, and the blossom and fruit. I still may plant an apple, but, on clearing around the base, we found there was already something new growing, ready to take advantage of the light and the open space. So, we’ll see. The garden has its own plans.
Pulling down trees
Dark now, the chainsaws growl on
under lights, taking down
the spreading tree I loved,
with its blossom and berries,
its deep shade in summer.
Full of birds it was,
its arched branches
chattering with life.
They leave the dead trunk behind,
for now, for remembrance,
for that wild rose to climb.
Tomorrow, when the sun rises,
I will see how bare the sky looks
without it,
how wide, how open the space.
How light.
And I will see, too,
at the base, sheltering, a
bending sapling,
holm oak,
already growing.
Such a gift,
always,
there is a gift.
Andrea Skevington 