I’d drive every day to work
And see them.
Sometimes a curse,
Sometimes a blessing.
“The Hot Gates”, I called them,
Two trees standing tall on my route
One a broken, a twisted spire, diseased and doomed.
The other, a virile, proud and lush belfry of greenery.
These specimens were evergreens, adjacent to the road I traveled
And almost every morning, I’d be caught behind a traffic light
Left to consider their juxtaposition.
Somewhere under the pavement, I knew they shared resources
And surely their roots met, tangled in competition.
I’d drive through them,
Readying myself for whatever may come.
Some days, I’d pass them without a care,
And others, with pride: knowing that only a man on a mountaintop
Can consider this drama, passing them by with skepticism and pareidolia.
But other days, I’d passed them by with a sense of dread.
What were they revealing to me today?
We are mortal,
Time is passing us by.
Our fate a bramble of prearrangement and luck,
Our roots tangled intrinsically: wishes and wants,
Love and hate, fear and misery.
We are judged by others with these instruments,
Tools to honor, interpret and also to dismiss.
But some of our time is easier to pass than others
Slowing at drama, and the pain of it all.
Like it or not,
Want it or not.
And here they were, every day, there to remind me
That some secret observer is interested in how I reconcile
It all.
A dreamer dreaming of trees at a traffic light
Set to pass,
Ready or not.