Tomorrow Trees

He patted the fresh turned earth
around the little sapling, moist sandy,
almost fine in texture.  It was a gentle pat,
like a father reassuring an anxious child:
"It's all right, little one.  You are safe."

Soot and ash, mixed into the rich soil,
reminded those who passed this way of a
once-glorious forest that spread over the hillside.
Picnics under tall, stately pines.  Hiking trails
winding through deep valleys, over
frothy streams that collected into a
singing waterfall.

Then the ravage.  A spark, a flame.
The sounds of weeping from so many
touched by the timelessness of
breathtaking beauty, only now in
memory and misery.

Until one day when he arrived with his friends.
An odd assortment with no boundaries in age
or cultural position.  They unloaded pallets of
little cups filled with nourishing dirt from which
slender green shoots held
promise and prayers.

The pile of empty cups grew as the land gratefully
adopted the seedlings, one after the other until
the scarred hillside took on a faint green glow.
When, in due time, the last tomorrow tree was
planted, patted and blessed with a prayer of
courage, the small but determined band of
forest-makers drove away, leaving the
thankful earth to her task,
the joy of her calling,
the making of new life.