It reaches toward the sunlight, sprawling, almost, as if it could touch it if it just reached a bit farther.
It begins to sag under the weight of its own effort.
It produces offerings. They glisten and flutter as if trying to catch the sun god’s attention. “Look! I made this for you! Take me with you!”
And it sheds. Exasperated. Another year, another holy season when God left it behind, when God becomes hard to see, hard to remember.
But then! Life finds comfort in it. A creature sees the value in its mangled form. It holds birds gently in its loving arms. They come and go like love, always arriving in a burst of effort and departing in desperation. “It is the way of things. It’s just time to go.”
It just keeps reaching.
I want a tree that is mine, that is me
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