Me, walking through the woods last night
heavy with tragedy
(me, not the woods)
came to a pine tree, heavy with snow.
It leant down, branch first, asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s sad,” I said, “when a woman you love
falls in love—really loves—someone else.
Don’t you think?”
“No.”
“What!?”
“You love her, yes?”
“Oh yes,” I said to the pine tree, wanting to climb it.
Or someone.
“Then you care about her, how her happiness goes.”
“But—”
“What?”
“But—”
“What?”
“Ok, I see that. You’re right. Wait a minute—
I think I’m having a realization.”
“Alright, stranger. I’ll stand here and be quiet. I won’t
needle you.”
“Wow! You are right! And I do love her, so ... ”
“Good. Now. It’s time you got out of these woods.
Do you see that merry red glow over on the horizon?”
I saw it.
“Time for you to get back to town.”
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