I felt the floor move beneath me
Downstairs activity tremored my tree
Nuts fell all around, inedible, indelible.
So I went to the park, sought out shade
Set my things below a large post oak
Its armlike branches reaching down
To ruffle the grassy hair of the ground.
I tossed a blanket
Ate a butter and bacon sandwich
Tried to get comfortable.
There was a gentle breeze
Hell, my friends showed up
But under the blanket
The tree sent ominous messages
Of now and future hardness.
Root density
Acorns on the wing
The song of an old oak
Shaking its children down again.
The Writing of John B. Randall 