The Gravity of my Infidelity

High above my head 

hangs the widow maker.

A long dead branch which one day

will succumb to the unending gravity

pulling it ever downward.

Dead, yet part of the living.

Living and yet… 

there it stands.

A Cottonwood tree

slowly shredding itself 

to death.

Hoping to take others with it.

Other trees.

Lesser animals.

Far lesser humans.

This particular tree is one of many.

Each creaking and swaying

under an immensity of cobalt blue.

Each tree reaching ever upwards

whilst across the ground beneath

lie shards of sun bleached predecessors

shinning white like dinosaur remains.

Here in the shade,

a pleasantly cool wind

flows through the Cottonwood's

dappled heavy leaves,

causing the multitude of 

green spades to click

and dully thud together

like a vast shimmering wind-chime.

I lie here,

enticed by the siren call.

Enticed, while 

far above my head

hangs the widow maker.

You know… 

I'd be safe

if I wasn't married.

I'd be safe

but oh… 

isn't it nice 

to feel the gravity?

Ó99 Jack David Hubbell