A Farewell to Kings and a Salute to The Trees

I've always been a lover of words and a rhymer of rhymes. I suppose it's something that my father instilled in me at a young age. It never wore off and now it shapes who I am and what I plan to do in this life. There is something about artfully constructed phrases that strikes a poignant note in my heart. I get chills. I love it. I truly love words and the power that they inherently have. What a grand gift that we've been given, the gift of words to be had.
The other day, I sat down to watch the Lorax. I wasn't sure what to expect nor how to feel. It was a story that I'd treasured in the days of my boyhood. I remember my father reading from the Seuss library to me and I didn't know if modern film could do my childhood credit. By the end of the film, a lump had seated itself firmly in my throat. My eyes were hot and for the oddest reason I had the urge to go plant a tree and hug one at the same time.
Now, trees are something truly wonderful. Again, my father has been a lover of these majestic creations for as long as I can recall and last night, I realized that he'd passed that love on. Everything that I love to do in this life revolves around trees.
I love trail running and it's because I can race in the hills, the world speeding by. I'm accompanied only by the trees and their shade. There's something special about taking a trail into their realm and leaving the world behind.
I love rock climbing. I love heading into the canyons that surround Logan and scaling the cliffs and walls. The trees shelter and protect us, providing seclusion, quiet and beauty. We pass their tops as we scale and scramble and they cover the world in green yellow and red.
I love playing the drums. The wooden shells provide deep warm tones and snapping crisp rhythms. I love playing Didgeridoo and Guitar. The deep bass growl of the Didg and the soaring melodies of the Guitar are only possible because of the sacrifice of the trees.
I love writing. Now it's all digital, but a pen in hand and a book on the table are 2 things that technology will never replace.
You see, I love the trees; their branches and leaves. They house my fantasies and dreams and a realm hidden from the prying eyes of this busy busy life. It was this train of thought, that led me to write. And write I did.

My name is Andrew and I speak for the trees.

Their voices are soft and whisper in the breeze.

What they have to say is important and not easily forgot.

It can make quite a difference.

Yes, quite a whole lot.

These trees, you see, have been around a while.

They’ve been here a long time and I should rather think, they’d like to stay a time longer.

They’ve seen a great many days and winters and nights

They’ve seen battles and bickers and fights

Silently they watched as the palaces burned

Said nothing as the beaches of Normandy churned

They’ve hidden soldiers and slaves

Looked on as we dig grave after grave

In Vietnam

They felt the scorch of the Napalm

In Korea they wept

While the country never slept

Why such sadness you ask?

Shouldn’t this life be whimsical frimsical fun?

Why, there’s great gladness to spread

Happiness to have

I’m glad you think in such a bright cheery way

Shall we listen to what the trees have to say?

Wooden Sentinels and Watchers

They’ll stand in silence til the world comes to an end

What does all this mean you ask me my friend

Listen, just listen, to what the trees have to say

They were around when the world was bright and new

In a garden quite distant from here

When man did let out that first groan

Miraculous and stalwart they survived the great flood

Every climate and hill call they their home

The trees mostly and above all

Have seen something that no one else saw

In a grove a bunch of the olive types stood

As the Creator, the Greatest

Came for the sake of all good

Shuddering and hushed

They witnessed, as by a great weight we was crushed

Their roots tasted that salty, ferrous blood

Just ask the forests. They’ll tell you it’s true

They saw that, as He suffered for me and for you

It doesn’t stop there. That’s not the end.

Upon a hill the corpses of three trees were placed

Nails were used. They pierced the flesh of a tree and the Hands of a King

This memory from the trees never can be erased

Ask the olive groves as ever so slightly they bend

Their voices will echo and bounce and finally ring

We saw they swish and swither

We felt the earth groan and quiver

The trees have seen a great many things

Chirping birds and baby blue skies

Most of all, they saw that King rise

On the third day they saw the tomb empty

And nothing else mattered

Tales of woe and destructing they can artfully weave

So fierce and frightful that you’ll want to leave

But listen a little while longer

And in the peace you’ll soon feel

The presence of God dwells in the trees

It’s in their hearts, deep in their roots

Upward they point and never down

As if to say, Render to the King, His crown

In the silence of the night and the bright of the day, I encourage each of you to think, for even just a moment. Think to yourself, "If the trees could answer, what would they say?"

My name is Andrew and I speak for the trees.