I lived in the woods,
Deep in the woods.
It was quiet there.
There were many trees,
Strong, powerful trees:
Oak, maple, hickory,
Pine, hemlock, and dogwood.
It was a place of contemplation,
A place of joy-
I heard it in the wind
As it rustled through my woods.
Then one by one the trees
Grew ill and weak and died.
I no longer saw my beautiful woods,
Only the field of my grief.
It was hard to see them fall.
I looked up,
And there was a hole
Where they once stood.
An absence
Against the skyline of my heart.
I surveyed
The field of my grief
I felt only the pain of ravaged earth.
An angry storm
Attacked the battered field;
Lightning burned the land.
There was nothing to stand
As guardians against the dark.
The storm stretched beyond the horizon,
But the loud booming gave way to quiet rain,
And dark became grey.
The heat of the storm
Became cold dampness
I stood in the field of my grief.
The sun returned.
The earth warmed.
I tried to shut my eyes.
I attempted to stay in the cold dampness.
I felt my skin warm.
I smelled the sweetness of earth drying.
My eyes fluttered open.
There in the field of my grief
Were tiny trees growing.
The woods would come again.
Not the same woods.
These trees grew in the field of my grief
With roots deeper,
Limbs wider
Than those that had grown before.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
2012
Three Truths
Simple truths,
I have learned
Along the way:
If you look for sorrow,
Sorrow will be found.
When you are weary,
Weariness never ends.
One morning, for no reason,
You will awaken
And see the sun shining.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
2012
Finding Trillium
Yellow trillium, three leaves, three petals, hidden in brown leaf compost,
First time in four years my hands have cleaned this bed of wildflowers.
From beneath all this rotting debris,
These pale-yellow petals and mottled leaves evoked memories
Of Da’s hands deep in the woods earth,
Moving these flowers from forests
High in the mountains that he loved more than life
To this his last home. Yellow trillium far from home,
Just like me far from the mountains shrouded with fog in spring.
My roots grew strong there in the dark wood’s earth;
Yellow trillium and I uprooted from that black loam soil.
He brought us both here and now he is gone.
It takes a long time for dead leaves to turn to soil;
It takes a long time for grieving to expire.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
1997
Thoughts
There is one more section, and then I will be finished.
When I got to this point in writing this book, I found myself resolved to the fact that this was my life for that time. It did not mean it would always be that way, and it did not mean that my trials were all over because as long as we live there will be trials.
I found that it helps me to take the long view on things. It was what both of my parents taught me to do as a child.
I like these three poems. In the list of trees... I consider myself a hickory tree. The Hemlock is for my father and the dogwood for my mother. My brothers each have a tree. Jimmy is the oak; my brother Gary is the pine, and Joe is the maple.
One day I realized these three truths about life and in dealing with sorrow. There will come a time when you wake up and the sorrow is behind you.
The last poem is about my father and his love for nature, and how he uprooted me from where I had grown into a woman. I consider myself a mountain woman to this day.
There will be one more post.
The picture is from my forest.
Ever,
Mary Elizabeth Todd
December 30, 2022