As seen through the eyes of my best friend, as she inspired me.


The Tree Within

I have a private path that I always make time to journey

Only my footsteps have ever traveled the trodden stones that serve as boundaries to the sacred place.

Each blade of grass is gracefully bowing the direction that I walk with respectful isolation.

With silent steps, my thoughts echo noiseless against breezes that have voices of their own.

I must make a quiet quest when the stresses of reality weigh heavy and the world’s compression becomes too much to bear.

The carpet underfoot is an accumulation of fallen leaves that have bid me greeting each time that I have previously passed.

The trees welcome me with their donations as I come to shed; I must shake each dead leaf of despair.

I have been to the birthplace of my spirit many times and each experience is as if I have arrived a new.

Shadows stretch out to offer clues to take me to the root for which I have come to rest upon.

Under the shade I will lay my burdens and meditate.

As I sit upon a chair of earthly woven arms that extend from her stem, I nestle close to feel the pulse of the life within.

With eyes shut and mind wide open I become one with the breath of the solitary.

Broken dreams are mended at the foundation to reform as new limbs of inner strength if offered without reserve.

Here is where I am ordained to be when my soul has been drained, for I am reminded without word that my branches are made to bend and that I will not break if I have faith of things unseen.

Now sensing my weakness she beckons me to her other side to lie beneath her.

She begins to caress my body with exuded peace, and undress my soul to purify my core.

I become embodied in this translucent tree, now able to see right through to find a greater me.

The solitude is slowly broken as the last of her tokens is offered.

Floating from her highest living nerve she releases the skin of her being to land upon my chest.

A leaf that will never hit the ground, a gift incarnate which when delivered home will serve as a testament until the path to the tree in me must be rediscovered.

As I prepare to go I touch the breast of her trunk with human hand, feeling the grains and righteous rings ingrained upon her face, not weathered with time but made more beautiful with nature’s grace.

I whisper thank you, and she brushes by with soft wind as she bows.