Over the past few weeks, I’ve been really struck by how colourful the oak trees I see on my morning walks are at this time of year, with their wild orangey-red foliage so different to the surrounding trees heavy green. So here’s a poem I wrote in my head about those oaks this morning. The images are from Tom’s Range project.
Edited to add: thanks to those who have sent links to the phenomenon of oak trees putting out fresh new orangey leaves in July and August – Lammas growth
This oak is
This oak is
most itself when seeming
to speak
of other seasons
First leaf among
the last in spring
as yellow as
September
Verdant July
draws all colours to itself:
scarlet and bronze, it
glows in unexpected flame
Yet, while birch and beech are turning
it’s fresh as
June’s green
In hoar frost and mist
this oak carols out
May’s blossomy joy
from the heart of December
And, in February’s dim bunting
of usnea and moss, it
flies the promise of
borrowing days
In speaking of
other seasons,
this oak is
most itself when seeming
July 5th, 2020
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