Friday, 01 August 2014 00:00

As a witch hugs a tree

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Glowing treePerhaps you have been there ten years,

Perhaps you have been there one hundred years.

Perhaps you are a precocious child,

or perhaps you are a wise great-great-great-grandmother.

Your roots reach down into the rich deep soil,

perpetually nursed by the breast of the Mother.

My feet leave the ground every few seconds,

but you never lose your connection,

not even for a step.

My senses roam far and wide,

moving about the earth to take in so much

from so many places,

but you have watched the same place change with every passing day,

watched the snow melt and the flowers bloom,

watched your leaves fall and decay into nourishment for the land,

watched the animals sleep and the animals awaken,

and watched the young grow old,

the old die,

and the dead reborn.

I know no such stillness,

not even in my deepest moments of meditation,

the stillness to simply observe,

and simply be,

and be content with the flow of nature.

May I call you "friend?"

May I reach out and hug you?

May I, for one moment, glimpse at the stillness that only a tree can know?