vigils

a september saturday in the park
smelled of fall and the end of things
despite the solid sun and the busy birds
and all the commotion of human throngs
around the picnic tables and chairs,
eager to taste the dregs of summer
as if it were the very last one,

and it was only after two full laps
that its large absence
struck and planted me still,
made me look, in disbelief
at the small mound -- all that's left
of where the tree stood in the ground,
the tallest elm in the park.

i thought back to a day in march
when, in the gathering dark,
someone walked through the ankle-deep snow
and stood side by side with the tree,
and stayed there for almost eternity -
a winter warrior in need,
holding a vigil for someone,

or something,
in good company -
now uprooted and gone,
and with it, all the griefs
it had witnessed and grounded
for, perhaps, a century.
not much to be said, except, godspeed.