Side by side the oak trees stood but, by what magnetism one bent towards the other, we can only guess. Season and storm must have pushed them closer until skin brushed against skin, rubbing down to the soft dermal layers. When the abrasions healed, two were grafted as one. Arms akimbo, an open mouthed kiss; their entanglement is the eternal embrace of the Marriage Tree.
Humans that can pass through the interspatial separation believe that they can conceive of their own fertility.
In Chota Nagpur and Bengal
the betrothed are tied with threads to
mango trees, they marry the trees
as well as one another, and
the two trees marry each other.
Could we do that some time with oaks
or beeches? This gossamer we
hold each other with, this web
of love and habit is not enough.
In mistrust of heavier ties,
I would like tree-siblings for us,
standing together somewhere, two
trees married with us, lightly, their
fingers barely touching in sleep,
our threads invisible but holding.
Tree Marriage ~ William Meredith
Note: Arborphiles might like my photoblog’s Thursday Trees: Fascinating as a poem