The Sea Tree

A poem for those who were never meant to belong among everyone else.

By the edge of land and the start of sea
an old tree resides.
No forest ever claimed it,
and it now lives an odd life by the water.

They say it grew from a sailor’s dream—
a fragile seed washed ashore one ghostlit dawn.
Only to be buried by the tide and forgotten by all—
but not by the sea.

It learned to stand where nothing else dared,
its roots drinking liquid salt,
intertwining with seaweed,
and its leaves whispering to ghosts of passing ships.

Some nights the moon would sit beside it,
and the sea would hum an old lullaby.
Yet no one knows the purpose of this sea tree,
and why it is not meant for the forest.

But oh,
how the sea remembers.

And as the tree reaches down—
with thin, trembling, and oh so curious roots—
it slips free of the forest’s hidden web
and into something that lives beneath the waves.

A place that isn’t made of predictable earth,
but of a strong pulse
and an ever-changing tide.
A place the forest could never understand or predict.

The salt stings its fragile roots,
but from the ache—
a sea tree is formed.
And somewhere beneath the waves,
the tree begins to remember too.

The sailor had a dream of a different tree—
peculiar, soft, and strong.
One that was never meant for the forest—
for the wood wide web—
where all roots move in the same direction.

It was meant to stand here,
alone but so curiously alive,
to remind those passing by
that there is more to life
than dancing in forests where everyone else belongs.

And if you don’t belong there either—
in the tamed, timbered world—
know this:

even the most rooted forest trees
can learn to drink saltwater,
if they dare bend toward the sea.

And maybe, this is not a story about a tree after all.

Picture taken by Maria Bæk in Denmark at Enebærodde.

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*Just to be clear: no shade to the wood wide web! That is fascinating.

From the Poetry Departement at the Castle of Wonders,
Maria

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