The Tree of the Dancing Man

There is a tree which stands alone.

It is not too large, not too small.

It rises above a hedge which helps it grow

In height

and

In my mind.

It is not a tall tree

But it is one of character,

Of individuality, of significant style:

It is the tree of the dancing man.

It does not move:

It does not dance,

But its stance suggests it might.

It leans back

Shoulders down, relaxed.

It does not have a head of hair.

It is stumpy, bald -

But this adds to its presence.

It wouldn't like it said

But there is something of the mummy about it

Wrapped as it is in the tendrils of ivy's grasp

Like the bandages of the embalmed.

And its branches reach like arms in front of it,

Its finger twigs pointing to the ground,

Curving to the earth that lies beneath it

Which secures its dancing roots.

It rides the landscape, this dancing tree

Saying, "Look at me, here in the field!

Look as you pass in your motorised metal

Rushing on your way

To who knows where.

Look at my form and marvel at how

I am shaped.

I am Nature's sculpture,

Made in Gaia's workshop,

Chiseled by wind

And chained by green.

And I am happy to be part of this tapestry of land

And act as a marker on it to all who pass.

Let you see in me what you will:

A distorted plant, bound by another;

A misshapen lump that rears up out of order;

A nothingness of note in a nothingness of green

Which straddles this grey trail

And secures it in its place.

It matters not what you see as I know

That there is one who does see me:

My mythic past.

And in my appearance,

That one sees my tie to their homeland

And my presence on this earth.

I am the Green Man made manifest

And I beat and drum through this land.

I am an invitation to this one to explore,

A reminder of what can be seen

If a mind is open

And an imagination is revealed.

I am an inspiration,

A muse; a myth.

And I will stand here

Until my roots are loosened

And my arms are snapped

And I fall

And am no more.

But I will be remembered by one

Beyond my usurping from this place

And forever live on

In form beyond my standing spot:

A very different form,

One of words,

Words that capture me

And that preserve me as I am:

For I am the tree of the dancing man."