Beech Tree in February

I look through the year long leaf,

This time auburn brown and will be

Until the spring comes and new ones

Appear in a silky green

That isn’t pretend but should be

For all it’s perfect crispness.

I want just this once to see what

It looks like from above

To see what I look like when I’m not down here.

It’s easy to climb all the way to the top.

I’ve seen Dad do it before.

He used a ladder but I don’t need to.

You see I’m not taking anything away

Like he was. I’m only going up to see

What I’m missing by being me.

I swing myself up first like my brother always told me.

Get some momentum, not too much and then

Your footing comes next and suddenly you’ve begun.

It only gets easier from then on in as you pull your feet

Up after your body and find footing to reach on from.

It doesn’t take long, you’d be surprised

Maybe a minute and a bit but less than two.

Here I am at the top and I can see

Everything.

I can see you easily and out past to the other trees.

The ones that aren’t captured but are free to grow

Together on the ridge above the sheep field.

They look dirty somehow and not as pretty.

They don’t have coverings of their own yet

But are half drowned in parasitic leaves of ivy.

The houses look small and the people inconsequential

Just as you are I suppose.

I am unsure of how long it will take to get down

Of how long until you will peep and peer

Through the window or call out the door.

I don’t want to be discovered here.

Just as you don’t want me to understand.

But I know it will not be the same to know

What is up here. To pretend like before.

 I will keep it to myself this new revelation.

Just as the hawk keeps private it’s elation.

Happy not to share the airborne secrets

With any more than is strictly necessary.

Because now it has gone on too long for me

To admit that you didn’t know anything at all.