16/08/2025
The August issue of the Park Bugle features a moving poem that weaves together history, community, and the enduring presence of our neighborhood’s trees.
These are the Trees by Eliza L. Swedenborg
These are the trees whose great arms embrace
The sun and give a shaded space
A shelter for a world hard as this
For a child’s first steps, a couple’s first kiss
These are the people who love the trees
Their soft hushhhhhh in a summer breeze
Their sharp rebuke of barefoot feet
Guardians along these quiet streets
These are the trees who watch and wonder
The people marching joyfully under
Little bikes with ribbons, a lawn mower brigade
Back row to a curious and heartfelt parade
And the trees listen, too, as the people sing under
The great canopy arches (unless scattered by thunder)
Kentucky bluegrass carpets an alt rock quartet
It’s safe here, under the trees, they say. Safe yet.
…..
These are the trees who remember deep
In their rings
Where the whippoorwill sings
And how Mrs. Hall and her children listened
From the doorway at night, back when stars still glistened*
And before that, the people who walked through these hills
Toward ricing grounds
The trees know their footsteps still
Then the trees knew asters, May apples, and rue
Bees, beetles, and fireflies, too
Who lived in the drifts of leaves left standing
Under a cradle of branches, a community, a soft landing
Before Music in the Park
Birdsong ushering in the dark
(You needn’t cut to the core to know
It really wasn’t so long ago)
…..
These are the people who still reflect
On the great Cleveland trees they couldn’t protect
To make way for bicycles
Make way for road
Make way for inevitable
Progress! Behold!
And now there is more land in question
Branching our place in a new direction
A hidden woods, a great green lawn,
A course of trees — blink and what’s gone?
We need more housing (two things can be true)
Can we see a bigger picture, like our great trees do?
Imagine something more for the public good
And together conjure magic into this more-than-Hundred-Acre Wood?
In a much wider frame, our concerns seem so small
But if people don’t care for where they are
There isn’t anything left at all
One question ringing loud to me:
“This will change us.
Who do we want to be?”
…..
Each beloved tree will fall someday
May we tend to the decay
Mourn the loss
Nurture the new
(As they say, cracks are how new light shines through)
…..
This is the squirrel who lost the seed
And thereby did a very good deed
For from that seed a great tree did spring
Protected by our namesake
Saint Anthony of Padua
Patron Saint
Of (all-but) Lost Things
