Reassurance

"The beauty only comes when they're older",
uncle said, beckoning the trees closer
with a crooked finger and lopsided smile,
and she and I are saplings,
she gone and I fearful,
fearful of being cut down,
fearing of being shaped,
fearful of the man with pruning shears,
just o so fearful.

Lightening's peal,
a sudden reveal,
casts light on the stoic oaks,
silhouetted against a turbulent sky.

"Hope I can stand that tall",
whispered I but my uncle was
off toward the tree's base with
all the grace and tenderness
left after sixty summer suns.

"One of these may split tonight",
his knowing tone turned
might into will.
It seemed beauteous:
tracing the act back to one
hand or another was useless.
It simply was, yes,
it simply was.

My metallic buckle had become
an electric accessory - only
a suit of armor would target better -
but my uncle paid no mind to the lightning,
crept up to the trunk,
stalked it,
sniffed the storm air,
ran hands over the rough hide,
and waited for Nature's attack.

"If I die", he said,
"let it be here,
here with this oak, this field,
and nothing to spare me from
how I was born."

From pink hue to midnight blue,
rough bark to smooth cool stones,
stiff branches went to bend in the
breeze, we stayed and the
whole show felt like home,
looking lazily as Nature
threw thunderbolts,
clapped our ears with ferocity,
and put out the stars
for our wondrous eyes.