The tall, wind-pummeled giants
line up parallel to the sea,

lean gracefully over the always-cool
pathway serenaded by birds,

lulled by waves, some extending
long limbs graceful as ballerinas

low to the ground, which
also turn out to be roots,

interlacing with the next tree
and the next one after that,

weaving a wood wide web
underground, sinking their

anchors deep, stabilizing
the fabric of their existence,

sharing nutrients and water with
shaded and struggling relatives.

As a two-legged guest, I walk
this corridor of greatness

reminded how gentle and quiet
cooperation can be,

eavesdropping on conversations
I can’t possibly understand,

inhaling what is exhaled by
this community of brethren

assembled for the benefit of all,
the living and the dying,

remembering what has passed,
wind and birds singing them on.

•••

Monterey cypress groves, of which there are many on the California coast, are physically linked by vast mycorrhizal networks—underground systems that share nutrients and send chemical signals that allow the whole network to, among other things, activate defense mechanisms against disease.