The Trees in a Spring Cemetery Con/Jur/d, 4/27/2021 The trees, around the gravestones dip, swing, and do see do, flourishing bright-yellows, pink-reds, deep-greens oblivious to woodchuck burrows, filled with human bones, even the elders sway, sending messages of love, through the mycelium network of well fertilized earth. The dead don’t bother to follow the living home, although, my mother told me they did, if I walked around, walked around, walked around the headstone whistling, whistling, whistling three times. "One she she sheee, One and a half, she she sheeee Two sheee sheeee, sh ssh Two and a half, sheeee Three Wait, wait, wait does that count? I stopped before I went all the way around the last time?” “See all the pollen in the air? The way it changes the light? Those are the trees whistling silently. You don’t need to make a sound for the spirits to pay attention.” I’m sure, I should shout ‘Boo’ for some, it would be enough, but my age, walking through this cemetery’s manicured forest, feeling the sap flow, it is more comforting, to know when you ask the trees, they will tell you “You don’t even need to whistle.”
Well, that’s it y’all. I thought I might do something different today and introduce you to some of the team (Well it’s more like a family), who made today’s poem possible, Our Editor:
Our technical consultant:
Groundhog accommodations provided by:
Guest Appearance by The Mycelium Network!
And special thanks to Bliss Sherwood, who reminds us that eventually, we all become one with the trees.