He knocked on the door,
a small man with brown skin.
Gerardo, was his name,
he asked, “Can I cut your tree?”
The tree, over fifty years old,
usually pruned, stood overgrown
in the front yard and needed his attention.
The price was good so we agreed
he would come in the morning.
I expected the loud buzz of a chain saw
didn’t know he was already working
until I looked out the window.
He worked alone.
branch while he sat at the top
precariously balanced on the largest one.
I don’t know what he thought
when a strong winds swept through,
45 miles an hour or so,
afraid he would be blown
to the ground, or worse, taken
to the land of Oz I listened but
no shout or a call
for help, he held his position,
continuing to clip and shape the tree.
Something in his nature;
His patience with chaos, taking time to clip
then rake up the debris. He made me smile.
When his work was done the tree
was shaped like an umbrella
perfect for shade throughout
the work of an artist,
an act of love
for his God above.