Hollowed
a poem about the space where stories begin
Read and listen along.
Hollowed
©Rebecca Wilson, October 16, 2025
a tree laying on the path
bench or lighthouse
beckoning visionaries to sit
visitors to look around
sacredness to pass
sun peeking in
leaves covering the ground
like grandma’s paisley shag carpet
wanting more
of nature
intoxicating adventure
of autumn’s warm gentle breeze
kaleidoscope of color and possibility
of the story
when, why, how
did it fall
years or decades ago
a storm
rain, wind, tornado
lack of attention
shallowness
pests, disease
was it sick
what about all those next to it
still standing
slowly
stages, phases
single rapid movement
pushed, pulled
forced, lulled
from the soil
mostly
I want to know life before
when was it born
type, form
shade cast
fruit provided
oxygen supplied
creatures that crawled in
called it home
dreamers that climbed up
not yet returned
was it tears carving the hole
a soul crying for healing
voice yelling into the void
its own pollenated heartbeat
did parents play here
children laugh here
lovers grieve here
widows love here
seekers seek here
poets find their muse
did dancers spin here
unhoused sleep here
hungry feast here
thirsty drink here
hiders hide here
outcasts find their roots
the story of who we are
is more than the tale of how we fall
Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10CAMELS
Invitation to Reflect
Take a walk and focus on just one tree. Or remember a tree you’ve visited in the past.
What curiosities rise?
What certainties drop?
What story comes to you?
What was life before the fall?
Wow! Needs many readings/listenings. So rich!
Ahh, trees…a place for contemplation at every stage in their lives. Yes I need to be with this again and again.
In my travels for work, errands, or leisure I have long been aware that I often see a tree that calls out to tell its story. Each has something mysterious or distinctive that speaks in its surrounding landscape. I love to see these trees again and again as the seasons and years pass. I mourn them when they are no longer standing regardless of the reason.
We have a weeping beech in our backyard, full of memories since Jim planted it decades ago. That tree and I have a “conversation” each day about all the ways it fills lives with its unique beauty. It offers solace, much like a hug, when you are surrounded by its branches that create a room around its trunk.
Ahh…trees…with roots, branches, leaves, scars, stories, life…