by Christopher Walsh
(with acknowledgement to the works of Arthur C. Clarke)
Roots grow up into the sky.
Here, the sky is rich enough to nourish like that —
Giving what the soil, elsewhere, gives,
But in light instead of soaked-sod depths.
Roots are already underground, imitation branches,
Anchoring their tree into stability and safety
By spreading out.
Here, they spread upward instead.
Here, the air is like ground one can breathe.
And wind envelops this world's life,
Not breezing or blowing past it,
But sheltering it, nursing it,
Helping it grow.
The roots grab that wind, and
Pull against the massive gravity
That keeps this world a world
— Something may be solid, far below —
Think of it: a floating tree
Flying among and through the color-heavy clouds
That band this gas giant.
We can imagine life here, too.
© Christopher Walsh, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.