Where does the ladder go? It goes up.

I found a tree.

Later, a yoga student asked my why I hadn’t shared a poem in a while.

And then I found a poem:

The Copper Beech
BY MARIE HOWE

Immense, entirely itself,
it wore that yard like a dress,

with limbs low enough for me to enter it
and climb the crooked ladder to where

I could lean against the trunk and practice being alone.

One day, I heard the sound before I saw it, rain fell
darkening the sidewalk.

Sitting close to the center, not very high in the branches,
I heard it hitting the high leaves, and I was happy,

watching it happen without it happening to me.

Thank you, Marie and the Poetry Foundation.

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