Why Fallen Tree?

When I was looking for a name for this press, I tried a lot of approaches to come up with something that would have a meaning to me and make sense in general and that resonated. A friend suggested I look at my own writing for titles to see if anything jumped out at me. A number of years ago, I wrote a poem called “Voice of a Fallen Tree.” It combines my respect and love for nature with my love of books, for what are books printed on but fallen trees? Here is the poem.

Voice of a Fallen Tree

You, visitor in my woods,
see me laying on my Mother,
roots to the sky,
and think “dead tree”
or “so sad.”
Let me tell you, you are wrong.
The insects that could not live
in me when my sap ran
have found a home in my dry wood,
weave their trails upon my bark.
Amid my roots,
covered in clay and dirt,
live lizards, safe and warm.
Though my branches don’t reach as high,
nests are still built upon them.
My leaves that were,
give comfort to the ground,
and the seeds of me have been
sown on the winds
and grow in distant lands.
I serve a purpose
well beyond my supposed death.
When I finally rot and fall apart,
I will be the nurturer
for another’s seeds.
I hope that your bones
will someday be as blessed,
that you understand death
is just a passageway,
and the most mighty
live by their service.