Jack Pine and Stars
Sitting on the porch at Tara Manor, measuring the evening shadows as they lengthen and thicken, I study the jack pine’s wild, extravagant growth, the way it reaches out to reject the commonplace of ‘tree’, as Milton Acorn rejected the commonplace of ‘poet’.
The jack pine grows in radical disorder, sprouting here, there, anywhere the sea wind blows and its capricious nature dictates. Each limb of the jack pine bears a thin layer of salt, borne in from Passamaquoddy Bay by thin fingers of air that sow salt on branches and needles. Broken branches, untidy crows’ nests limb-tangled like grim, bedraggled hair sprout out from on high. Lower down the tree extends a branch, held out towards me like a helping hand.
Charcoal shadows fill in the gaps between darkening trees. Shy deer emerge, step by cautious step, drifting their sylvan ghosts, delicate, across footpath and lawn. Wrapped in a scarf of peace, I forget the city’s hustle and bustle. Stars poke peepholes in the dark. I try to name each constellation, as it traces its new-to-me path across the indifferent evening sky.
I look around: more jack pines, no two the same. How could they be? There’ll never be another poet like Milton, another book like his Jack Pine Sonnets, no tale like his own tale told in his own inimitable way.
rogermoorepoet 
Ah beautiful Passamaquoddy Bay holds my attentions . Lovely thanks
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Thank you for your comment ad so nice to see you here. The inner Bay of Fundy: indeed a beautiful spot and one that has captivated me for a long time.
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Me too. I spend as much time as possible on it.
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Hi Roger. Glad to see this here, in the company of the famous painting. Trees are a group I love. They commune with one another and they try to speak with us. Your time at the gardens certainly made an impression ( on both writer and reader)!
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Good morning, Jane: thank you for these kind words. Glad to see you here. I have sort of dropped off the surface of society this year. Society, mind, not the world, thank heavens. Thanks too for reaching out to me. All best wishes.
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hey Roger. I dreamed about you the other night. I dreamed you were a famous biologist and you produced the world’s first spontaneously generated cyanobacterium. There were other bacteria in the petridish but they were quite fragile. Your cyanobaterium was strong and glowed!
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I really like this, Roger. -j Jan Hull See my sculptures See my book
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Thanks, Jan. They are from my new book (well, December last year), Tales from Tara. I am busy scratching away and turning my rainbow-jellied soul into black words on white paper.
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A beautiful post ❤️❤️
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Thank you indeed: for visiting, commenting, and the two hearts as well. I love Milton Acorn’s Jack Pine Sonnets. I met him a couple of times and I’ll tell you about that in another post. Promise!
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You are most welcome indeed
I look forward to seeing this in another of your posts
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Thanks Neil, for visiting and commenting. Your presence will always be welcome. This is from Tales from Tara, as you know. St. Andrews certainly left an impression upon me.
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I love this, Sir Raj — a settled quiet, a near-sacred emptiness; a warming blanket of peace.
And my Jack Pine stand in the storms, as well.
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