I Could See It Coming

I Could See It Coming

I once hit a tree while skiing
It was small,
A scrubby pine, no higher than my hips
And all alone
On a white sweep of snow

I was fine, though embarrassed.
It wasn't my blindness caused it,
Though they assumed it was and teased me for it.
I didn't correct them.
I could see it coming.

Why was it there
In a slight fold
No others around for shelter
No pollination on bee-rich summer days
Or rattling conversational shiver
Shared in a night of bitter moonlit wind

Some mountain bird or rodent
Dropped a seed in a fold of land
A little dirt,
Trickle of water
Just enough to live and grow;
Solitary,
Slow and patient
Unharmed by elements
Or even my blundering impact.

I reached that mountain at fifteen,
Awkward, with thick glasses
Having watched childhood friends
Grow wise, realize and
Distance themselves from my difference
Thoughtless as a slap of wind driven snow

Small wonder
I was drawn to that tree
Strong, ancient,
Persistent, self contained,
Alive.

I could See it coming