Fastened to the Earth


It is not the colorful display of flowers that enlists me.

Though the warmth they bring.

I await eagerly.

The majesty of a tree…I could ponder, again and again.

Its weight.

Its shelter.

Its ability to defend.

There is truth to the pine, the ash, the birch.

An honesty to being fastened to the earth.

And, even as the solo branch, lumbers to the ground.

It does so without remorse.

And, with little sound.

 

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