The oak tree in my yard turned the brightest shade of yellow this year

the maple in my yard turned the brightest shade of yellow this year

 

I live in a house at the top of a hill 

that is surrounded by ancient trees.

Mature, 

tall, rooted, wise, 

magnificent, 

monumental 

and tall. So, so tall. Tall enough to loom

like a threat.

 

Since moving in a year ago,

I’ve been trying, 

awkwardly, 

to earn the trees’ favor, 

especially the prideful maple 

just outside the living room window – 

she’s the one with something to say, 

I’m sure of it. 

 

And so, I talk to the trees almost every day. 

Just pleasantries really, 

Hello, how are you? 

Look at this weather we’re having. 

I put my hand on their bark and attempt, 

through a nonsense process, 

to convey conviviality, 

and my most neighborly thoughts.

 

Well. 

Despite these efforts, 

the trees remain aloof. 

 

Sometimes at night though, 

the proud maple, 

she’ll scrape her branches 

along my bedroom window, 

which may be an attempt 

to communicate, 

like she’s saying, 

I want to get to know you better. 

It also might just be the wind.

 

This is my first autumn 

living with these trees, 

and the maple broke out into 

the most delicate shade of yellow – 

bright yellow with some tinges of red, 

leaves falling like fat snowflakes 

in showers onto the grass. 

The colors. 

The colors.

 

Though, maybe the show this autumn, 

and the gentle tapping of branches against glass,

maybe it’s all to lull me 

into a false ease so I might not notice

as the maple and her kin gradually, glacially 

execute their plans to rid their hilltop of me 

and my neighbors. 

 

I stare out the window at the maple 

and she looks back in at me, and I ask myself,

What sorts of gifts does one get for a tree? 

The Celts sacrificed bulls in their day, 

blood soaking into soil and root. 

 

Is that what it takes? 

I really don’t want to be rude.