Old Sycamore

That’s not an ordinary

sprawling sycamore tree.

To me, it’s legend.

Easily older than my grandfather,

it must have lived a century.

Its sessile, roots are settled,

it can’t move to escape

when deadly wildfires rage

through the chaparral—

but here it is,

alive to tell the tales.

You think, as humans,

we are more important?

Sorry, we are not!

This tree must have served

countless lives:

birds, and squirrels,

and many more.

It even hosts

clumps of mistletoes.

Many hikers must have

sat under its cool shade

after hiking through

the rocky terrain.

To me,

you—old sycamore—

are a living icon.

Admiring your rust canopy,

hugging your mottled trunk,

walking under your arching branches

is a joy and a privilege.