
Symbiosis
A photo poem

Placing my hands on the smooth red skin of the manzanita tree, I sense its energy pulsing into me.
The sight of its russet branches, fingers of the earth, reaching for the blue, blue sky, brings sharp tears to the backs of my eyes.
I sink to my knees, marveling at the curls of bark, tendrils of last year’s growth, peeling free from the silky skin.
I can almost tell where the roots begin to talk to the dirt and to the threads of fungi skirting the earth around its base, and weaving through the ground, like synapses, connecting it to its kin.
All around, slender stalks of fiery form dance and twist their way up from the ground, surrounding the old one.
Someday, they, too, will grow ancient and wise. But, for now, they simply take delight in the warmth of the sun and the tickle of the breeze in their leaves.

Hushed green clusters of moss, like dragon scales, cling tenaciously to the Grandfather Tree, living symbiotically with its limbs, fixing nitrogen from the air and adding an artistic flair.
Here and there, the tree shows its age. Iron gray splits, rendered from the force of gravity, twist along its spine, twining up and up, swirling around its girth and into the leafy canopy whispering overhead.
The web of life doesn’t always show itself unless you look, or learn to listen to how a tree breathes, sighing carbon dioxide into the night, and, daily, exhaling oxygen and inhaling light.
Oh, Grandfather Tree, bless me with your wisdom. Your stolid strength and the beat of your sap in tune with nature inspires me so, and gives me hope for the future.

This poem was birthed from a photography session in Calistoga, California. While hiking in the hills, I found myself surrounded by a forest of manzanita and stumbled across this old tree. I touched its skin, and it invited me in.
To truly understand a poem, I feel that it needs to be heard. To hear the rhythm, the cadence, the emphasis, please listen to my recording of “Symbiosis.”
