Revering A Locust Tree

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I've been walking by this huge old tree every morning, noticing that the property owners cared enough for it and, most likely, the shade it provides, to spend a lot of money to save it. Look closely and you will see the supportive cabling. Having once worked for a tree company, I know this isn't a cheap fix.

It is such a big tree I just assumed it was a walnlut or maple without really looking at it closely. Yesterday I looked at the leaves and realized it is a Locust tree. I've always loved locusts because of their lacy leaves and the delicious aroma of their blossoms. This one is, I believe, a Black Locust, not a Honey Locust like the one mentioned in this poem nor the grove of them I played in as a child.

When I Am Among The Trees
       (By Mary Oliver)

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and honey locusts,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
They give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you to have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."

I have always loved trees, being in a timber or a grove gave me, and gives me, a sense of the magical, spiritual, unknown. And even though I have felt and still feel quiet elation among trees, it has never occurred to me that the trees themselves were giving off such hints of gladness.