Shortly after I hung up the first round of words - I had to go out and do a second.
My initial choice of paper just couldn't handle spring's final fling with winter.
A fellow, presumably a neighbour, passed by as I was hanging the words up.
"So what *is* this?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "April is national poetry month...and this is my poet-tree."
"Oh... well so is this a poem?" he said, clearly at once satisfied and at once perplexed.
"Not exactly, but it has a theme. I do it every year. This year it's birds, words about birds, words associated with birds, bird words..."
"I see, like twittering and diving..."
"Exactly!"
"I wondered if a crazy person lived here or something"
"I suppose you could say you have to be a little nuts to climb a tree and hang words on it every spring."
He laughed and went on his way but I could tell that something about the idea tickled his imagination. And honestly, he did not look like the sort of person who would give a damn about a bunch of words hung in the tree. He looked like the fellows always mixing cement and driving pickups filled with construction material that seem to be in constant motion around here, whether they live in the 'hood or not. He passed by again last week and said -
"Hey, where are all the words?"
"On the tree behind you -but the weather's been hard on them- more are coming soon!"
"Good!"
My initial choice of paper just couldn't handle spring's final fling with winter.
A fellow, presumably a neighbour, passed by as I was hanging the words up.
"So what *is* this?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "April is national poetry month...and this is my poet-tree."
"Oh... well so is this a poem?" he said, clearly at once satisfied and at once perplexed.
"Not exactly, but it has a theme. I do it every year. This year it's birds, words about birds, words associated with birds, bird words..."
"I see, like twittering and diving..."
"Exactly!"
"I wondered if a crazy person lived here or something"
"I suppose you could say you have to be a little nuts to climb a tree and hang words on it every spring."
He laughed and went on his way but I could tell that something about the idea tickled his imagination. And honestly, he did not look like the sort of person who would give a damn about a bunch of words hung in the tree. He looked like the fellows always mixing cement and driving pickups filled with construction material that seem to be in constant motion around here, whether they live in the 'hood or not. He passed by again last week and said -
"Hey, where are all the words?"
"On the tree behind you -but the weather's been hard on them- more are coming soon!"
"Good!"
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