Every spring
that
gossamer
explosion
of pink,
of downy,
almost
frothy
white.
Those crabapple
and cherry trees
of my childhood
and that one in particular,
that I'd climb-
its branches laden
with ruby fruit-
my haven,
my portal to adventure.
And violet, lacy redbuds
- the sprawling
horsechestnut
with its spiked
seedcase
and inside,
the glossy, chocolate
lump-
50 years past
it was like magic
for me.

And now,
a fast-forward
to today-
to the pomegranates
of my neighborhood
and the lilas
with their
messy berries
strewn unto yards,
sidewalks.
Being from the Midwest,
pecans still fascinate
me
and I remember
the chabacanos
of Juárez colonias
and the care with which
they were tended,
the certainty that they'd
get
scarce,
precious water.

Ah,
trees
producers of oxygen
and fruit,
of much-welcomed
shade.
Their branches
are a playground
of squirrels-
and birds'
handy perch.

Trees equal
lumber
to build homes,
fences,
animal pens
and wood,
to sculpt
and for leña
for fire
to cook, give heat...

And these
crisp white
sheets-
pages,
an intimate of
writers
paper-
necessary
for literature...

Trees- they're
useful
and needed
for food,
for their products,
simple beauty...
But,
the greedy waste
must stop-
the deforestation
and mindless
cutting down..
for as the sloth
and the toucan
lose their
homes
for us too,
the repurcussions
are grave..

Lila is Spanish for Chinaberry, chabacanos are apricots and leña is firewood.