Trunk calls

 

I let class out early to tell some of our neighborhood trees about "Plantgate." I spoke to two across the street from our classroom. One, secure in the old cemetery of Shearith Israel across the street, patiently

if a little distractedly listened as I stroked one of its soft piney fronds. The other, on the sidewalk facing the cemetery, was busy with its own midwinter stuff; some peeling bark seemed a window into its soul.