I ride the morning thermals, silver rivers in the sky,
My shadow skims the valleys where the quiet ridgelines lie.
But where my tower once stood tall above the canyon floor,
A stump bleeds rings of memory—two hundred years or more.
He held my nest through winter storms, through lightning, wind, and rain,
A pillar of the forest’s breath, a keeper of the plain.
He cooled the valley’s summer heat with water in his veins,
Sent mist into the daylight like a thousand gentle rains.
Roots held soil against the floods,
Leaves called clouds across the sun,
Homes for owls and bees and moss—
But men say progress must be done.
Some cry the world runs loud and fast,
Ignorant of their Earth-crimes past,
They blame smoke dots from distant towns,
They blame the cars and choking smog—
Yet forests fall beneath their saws,
Our breath departs with every log.
Old oak knows what wisdom means,
Clean air grows strong in quiet rings.
I circle where the clearing yawns, the ground laid bare and wide,
Machines they carved a silent scar where life did once reside.
Folks argue global warming in halls of polished stone,
Yet miss the giant answer that once cooled land I’ve flown.
My friend would lift a thousand leaves to drink the morning light,
Turn sun to shade and carbon held in silent, living might.
He fed the soil, he slowed the streams, he called the rainfall near—
A forest is a living lung that keeps the planet clear.
Sad, I see the human young
Tapped to glowing games and screens,
While Earth’s teachers lose their lives—
Time grows truth in ancient greens.
Old oak knows what patience means,
Time grows truth in quiet rings.
While the world runs loud and fast,
Wisdom rides on older wings.
Trade your steel for bamboo canes,
Raise hemp beams beneath the sun—
Only build with what the soil gains,
Let the forests sing what Life has spun.
When I choose a mate each spring,
I climb the sky in turning flight,
We lock our talons, fall as one—
A spiral dance of trust and might.
We risk the fall to rise again,
A bond that builds, renews, restores—
So you must rise, and plant the earth
With forests greater than before.
Old oak knows what future needs,
Seeds in soil and hands that care.
Plant ten billion patient roots,
So mighty trees can clean our air.
Teach your children forest songs,
The rivers cooled in shaded birth—
And someday… eagles yet to soar
Will thank the hands that healed the Earth.
“Old Oak Knows” is a poem by Timothy Bradbury © 2024. Narrated by Jeff Vanderbilt.
Old oak knows what patience means,
Time grows truth in quiet rings.
~ Timothy
