I said to a mechanic the other day that

I had read about the Thermo Control Valve in Subarus.

When faulty, the car breaks down dramatically…

causing it to stop in the middle of the road

and flash all of the warning lights,

from Eye Sight 

to Ice on the Road

to Engine,

which is very scary 

and makes a person think she’s going to die

when another car rear ends her.

“I’ll try a new battery,” the mechanic said, 

“and cleaning the common ground.

All of the sensors connect to it.

In fact, we’ll clean all of the grounds. 

That should do it.”

“I read on Google,” said I, 

“that a faulty Thermo Control Valve

will cause the car to stop 

and chug 

and limp along,

with all of the warning lights flashing.”

“Your battery was good,”

the mechanic said, a day later.

“But we drove the car, 

after we cleaned the grounds, 

and checked the plastic screw that 

holds it all together, 

to see if it was loose. 

The car still won’t drive.”

“How about the Thermo Control Valve?” I asked.

“We’re just not sure what’s wrong. 

It won’t hurt my feelings

if you take the car to the guys up the road.

I gotta work on the bread and butter cars.

They keep the lights on,” said the mechanic.

“Did u check the Thermo Control Valve?” I repeated.

“Lady,” said the mechanic, “what do you know about cars? 

You think because you read some goofy thing on Google

you know everything?

We’ve got Identifix. 

You don’t know nothin’.”

“Sir, I do not like the way you are talking to me,” 

my time-worn self said, unafraid, 

the one, who used to smile and say, 

“Thank you. I am so sorry I’ve upset you. 

I’m so sorry you had to go through all the trouble. 

I’m sure it’s me, not you.”

“Sir, your customers must be very disappointed in you, 

if this is the way you treat them. 

I talked to the up-the-road guys this morning. 

They said it’s the Thermo Control Valve, 

and they’ll take care of me this afternoon. 

The tow truck is on the way, as we speak,” I said.

Saw the ex the other day at Safeway.

After a, “Hi, how you doin’?” 

he started in on the 

you should haves

you shouldn’t haves 

you can’ts

you won’ts,

and I thought,

“Thermo Control Valve.”

“Who do you think you are, 

telling me what to do?” 

I laughed at the delicious power I dripped in,

the power of a woman who knows 

she’s running the last third of the race.

“Look, there’s no time for this,” I said to my ex.

“There’s no time for this B.S.,” I repeated. 

He paused. 

“Huh,” he said, “you’re different. It’s good.”

“Damn straight, Bucko,” I said.

Some day, I think I shall be a tree—

a Douglas Fir, to be exact,

bursting from the cone seed

of my mother tree,

a sapling taking root in loamy soil,

rising to sky-bound wonder.

Hairy Woodpecker shall 

thrum against my bark,

feeding on delicious insects.

Red-breasted Nuthatches,

Chestnut-backed Chickadees,

Spotted Owls, and Bald Eagles

shall nest in my boughs.

 A chorus of new life shall rise.

Squirrels shall skitter along my limbs,

shaking loose my cones, my seeds.

Sunlight shall dapple through my needles,

painting lace across the forest floor.

The wind shall dance with me—

swaying, swaying—

whispering of towering Coastal Ranges

and Rocky Mountains,

whispering of meadows caressing wildflowers,

whispering of sparkling streams gurgling down valleys,

streams feeding rivers,

and rivers running to the sea.

I shall give gifts—

oxygen and clean, filtered water—

to the vastness beyond.

I shall grow tall,

reaching for the canopy,

my reddish-brown bark deeply furroughed,

my needles soft and flat, lemon-scented.

I am beautiful.

I am strong.

My roots shall entwine

with those of my sisters and brothers.

We shall grow together,

bending but not breaking.

No flame shall take us.

And when I finally see above the canopy,

that which I have only dreamed of,

I shall touch the hand of God.

And when at last,

after a thousand years,

I fall—

I shall b

ecome the forest floor.

Fungi shall bloom from my damp wood,

calling out to their lichen kin.

Snails and slugs shall love my decay—

as shall the beetles.

Warblers and nuthatches shall feast upon the beetles.

From my trunk, fern fronds, 

wide and velvety green, shall rise.

Frogs and salamanders, bats and wood rats

shall make homes in my hollowed heart.

Moth and butterfly shall land gently.

Doe and fawn shall rest against me.

And when the seeds of my cones are spread,

I shall give birth to saplings

from my body of thriving,

a layered tapestry of life.

Yes, I shall be a tree.