Poem for Tu BiSh’vat

I dug out a sapling from the woods behind my house,
and drove it to a bare copse that overlooks our valley.

With its roots cramped in a burlap bulb,
I replanted it with layers of dark clay and topsoil.

I probably should have said something of importance,
a prayer for peace or nature, if nothing else.

But I just listened for the soul in my own quiet breath,
which took the wind’s hand and fled the sun.

The vaporous light over the valley dissolved,
and I left behind all thought of discord and death.

I saw the stately moon and transcendent heavens,
though brilliant and beautiful, were distant and cold.

Yet the bare trees whispered like old relatives:
See, how we reach, touch, cherish what we hold.

© Steven M. Critelli

Published by CCAR Journal – The Reform Jewish Quarterly – Fall 2021