The Tree

I look up at the tree.
tall and seemingly proud,
he towers over me
and sings a tree song.

He whistles with the wind,
and scratches the windows.
And when the rain pours down,
the tree does not sulk.

Rather, he takes in the rain
and drinks the gift –
allowing it to help him grow,
his limbs reaching out

he is always looking
for more,

More rain,
more sunlight,
more warmth,
more life.

His roots reach down deep in the ground,
fostering history and life.
The longevity he thrives upon,
is determined by his acknowledgment of his roots.

The tree remembers,
he remembers being young,
and his roots sprouting into the ground below –
pushing him up.

So he could grow into the tree he is today,
his rough bark, his leaves,
loving and inviting.
He is so friendly even squirrels and birds make him their home.

And the tree stands tall.
and seemingly proud,
But the tree has weathered so much.

He has seen his friends fall,
others die,
He has struggled to breathe –
and yet despite that:
He has lived.

And he gives this advice:



I hope that I can be like that tree.
I want to live in spite of that which i weather.
I want to be as free as the tree –
whose roots paradoxically hold him in place.
Because it seems even though I have the freedom to wander,
I lack the freedom that the tree has,
and it is myself who is not allowing me to have that freedom.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s