Tom, 

What evocative imagery. Thanks for sharing. ENTS is on a high road and I think 
Jenny is on to something. An ENTS book of tree poetry. What an undertaking that 
would be. It is apparent that we have some exceptionally talented people who 
could participate. I wish I were among them, but I can at least appreciate the 
contributions of my fellow and lady Ents. 


Bob 

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "thomas howard" <[email protected]> 
To: [email protected] 
Sent: Monday, December 21, 2009 9:44:39 AM GMT -05:00 US/Canada Eastern 
Subject: [ENTS] Re: Winter Tree Poem 

ENTS, 


I have written some poems that are somewhat related to trees in winter. I'm 
sending you one - this poem is written in the persona of the main character of 
2 science fiction novels I'm writing about an artist born in Chartres, France - 
Chartres is a place I long to visit, a place I've studied a lot over many years 
: 




November Light 





The light through the cathedral windows of Chartres – 

The light that streams down through the clerestory of oak crowns in 

Our natural cathedral – 

The stained glass of Chartres that strains the light of celestial spaces 

The golden, russet leaves of ancient oaks that strain the light 

Into cathedral strands like stained glass 



All are the same light – leaves of oaks, windows of Chartres glow with 

The same inner light of gray November, the inner soul, light 

Inwardly directed, 

Heaven in a russet oak leaf drifting down from the old growth canopy 



My earliest childhood – the November sky of Chartres, later the November 

Sky of the oak grove – the light is the same 



What am I but the mud of Earth? 

The seed of life in November when Earth withers away? 



Light – gray, inner, of fallen leaves, of stone and wood 

Cathedral spires – medieval man, ancient trees – 

Light that is old and new, where heaven and Earth meet in 

November rain, sleet, leaves falling past saints and heroes – 

Etched in stained glass – 

Past the Grecian oak columns holding up the forest cathedral 

Older than man 



I must embody all this to be a true poet, true artist 

But the mud and cold force me down 



Yet I become the celestial song of the withering 

November Earth. 







Tom Howard 

















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