We could not see the curvature of the earth
but we felt it as we moved
from dawn to dusk.
From our vantage point
where the sun rose and set,
we were like clouds borne along by spring winds,
reflecting light.
We were like trees
anchored in their seasons,
bearing down against winter fronts,
opening up in bud burst and leaf.
We could not see the turning world
from where we stood,
but it moved us,
that in its momentum we found our rhythm.
We were certain of nothing
but the natural forwards movement
of millennia,
of which we,
passengers moored by gravity,
travelling earth’s circling trajectory,
were cast.
And not as feathers on the wind,
or autumn leaves at the mercy of gusts,
but more as dancers,
bending and extending,
rising and jumping,
turning and gliding,
and in charge
of each muscle’s flex and stretch,
given strength, purpose,
and grace.
Yes, we could not see the full curvature of the earth
from where we stood
at our low vantage point,
but felt it
as clearly as we lay down together
entwined,
under the night’s deep blue
bowl of sky,
tracing galaxies,
and counting satellites
within our finite fields of vision,
feeling like, if we just closed our eyes
we might fly.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
November 2022
Living Tree Poetry 