Anomalous Spring Tree

Your attention is caught by a thrumming -

the sound a sail makes on close-hauled boat -

it's out of place here in this wealthy

suburb, where the rows of Easter lilies

parallel the fading tulips, and camellias

alternate with budding new-named roses.

The noise is from a tree, its few unfallen

leaves rattling in the mid-afternoon breeze.

You think it's dead as its cruciform neighbor,

the creosoted lampost, or the square of rounded

stones it stands in. Every other blooming

tree along this block sprouts from

bushes or compost or even just struggling

shaded grass - its few dessicated berries

cast no shadow. At its base a few

misshapen new leaves sprout, lost,

and for some reason at the end of each branch

there's the beginning of a bud. What's

it thinking? Did it somehow not get the

news that spring has once again not failed?

Does it distrust this steady sunlight and

the cacophony of exultant birds?