A Walk at Daylight, by John Ford

At Daylight the Miserable Man was Carried to an Oak, photography by Ken Gonzales Day (USA) 2007. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Museum purchase through the Luisita L. and Franz H. Denghausen Endowment. © 2007, Ken Gonzales-Day. https://www.si.edu/object/daylight-miserable-man-was-carried-oak-series-searching-california-hang-trees%3Asaam_2012.12.1

A Walk at Daylight 
 
At daylight the miserable man was carried to an oak…
 Down past the orchards, across the stone bridge, over the roaring river,
Those who’d been selected grunt with exertion, 
muscles tense, struggling as the path steepens. but still, 
  The most loyal of life carried him forth, never ceasing, into the forest of old. 
 
He, once a man of prominence, had firmly yet humbly requested it to be so.
The overcast morning air held in it a threatening crispness, 
 Though the grass was deep green, Summer’s leaves had fallen.
Upward they toiled into hills, through rows and rows of inferior silhouettes,
until they stood, gasping, at the base of the ancient, staring up in awe.
 
 He was laid to rest against the great spiraling trunk,
It would seem that he had been here many times before.
 Staring up at the branches, he arrived at the great oak door.
So soon it will open, he need not knock. 
Slow comes the ticking, even slower, the tock.
 
No, these branches to him, a most familiar view.
As a boy, they had held him, and beneath them he’d played.
They’d witnessed his rise, shaded him, and felt all his pain. 
Laid here in this place, to spend the last moments of his life,
He thinks of his children, his home, and his wife. 
 
Oh, here he sits with the softness of moss upon his back.
His frail legs laid out upon the dew wet grass.
His breaths came in weakening hollow rasps.
It seems he’s reaching for something just of grasp,
Hauntingly beautiful, the end of the path.
 
His wrinkled hands reach up toward the sky.
His eyes stare upward, up into the ancient branches.
But he is no longer here lying in this place,
No, the branches upon which he sits are of earlier days.
No longer that old and miserable man, a boy, a tree, a superior plan.
 
The branches gently sway back and forth,
A warm morning breeze dances among summer leaves.
At the trunk of this great tree rests a tender child.
When he looks up among the strong branches, 
the sun shines upon his youthful face...
 
For, at daylight the miserable man was carried to an oak.

John Ford

John Ford: "I've had the pleasure and honour of having my work selected in the challenges, which has been enormously encouraging as an emerging poet. I was born and raised in the beautiful state of Colorado, in the USA, where I live now with my incredible spouse and our three children. I am a horticulturalist by trade and owner of a landscaping business operated in my home city and surrounds. In recent years I have become serious in action about a long felt desire to write and to contribute to the communities of art, that have long provided me a sense of support and inspiration in a world of so many unknowns."