Ode to the Guy Chopping the Tree

Posted on June 30, 2018 Updated on June 30, 2018

I googled it, and apparently the job is called Tree Climber

I step outside with the dog and
find myself
staring and analyzing your every move.

You are so high
taking steps up
the trunk,
pausing, moving your lasso tether up each time it dips below your waist,
leaning back against the rope,
trusting balance
but moving methodically,
pulling the trimmer up on the rope where it hangs
somehow
from your waist? or shoulder? or back?
and chopping a branch on one side
moving up a foot more
chopping a branch on the other side,
obviously evaluating each small movement,
the picking up of the electric trimmer,
the letting it go,
the shifting of the lasso,
the leaning back into it,
your feet, planted into the trunk and moving
in steps that combine the short-term accomplishments with
your big-picture long-term goals
Make the area safer
and do it in a way that won’t kill me
that won’t involve dropping branches on workers below
but will still be close enough to the wood chipper
avoiding immoveable branches, interminable distances
and always and still and also don’t cut
indiscriminately
because
after all
these are trees.
They matter.

The dog insists on going in. I think about writing and how the labor
is similar but not the same as climbing and cutting trees.
I look out the back window. You are slowly moving down now,
cutting the trunk above you as you go,
making your precarious work look easy
but from afar I see the concentrated focus of mind and body in your sweaty art.

The woods are lovely, bright, and green.
I watch you climb and cut and lean.
Yet I turn from the window to the screen
I turn from the window to the screen