The Ash Tree, Thanksgiving 2019

© 2019 Vincent Hostak

 The trouble with gratitude is the same as its blessing.
 I begin by thanking the ash tree for being.
 Then how it looked in the rain 
 when I was once struck by sadness
 or how its bark felt to the fingers of a blind friend.
 How it’s branches resisting its gusts gave wind a voice.
 How it gave me work to do one summer that made me sturdy.
 I’ll recall the beauty of its foliage and 
its absence these winter months.
 I’ll see the hues of the leaves which science still can’t name,
 the names which it has found, 
the pigments that an artist knows,
paintings the artist brought me 
of its shadows over seven summers.
I’ll see the hole in its core 
after a limb fell in the hard spring rains,
see the home that hole made for a family of animals.
I’ll know it’s a mystery 
how it fills me with a love for all things,
and the mystery of its being in the first place, 
the desire it builds for some things to remain unsolved.
This trouble I observe with gratitude is
how a single blessing cultivates more.
It is unfolding a prayer flag
and stringing it from tree to tree.
Before even completing the task,
stepping along it to read
strange figures stained upon on each patch:
three jewels enflamed, an elephant, a horse, a snowlion.
Without a trace of knowledge of the inscriptions
and still not knowing why 
I rose so early on this near-winter day
or how this song called itself to be set free, 
I’ll know what to do.
I’ll begin once more by thanking the ash tree for being.