This tree is confident, not arrogant. She trusts her strength against what comes. Holds herself high enough, but in humility. She only takes the space she needs, narrow at the base where other life must grow, but limitless in its top. Opens with elegance and grace. Doesn't bend to wind, nor curl onto itself in rain. Lets snow settle on her branches, flake by flake, because she knows that just as it came, it shall leave, drop by drop. And what makes her beautiful is what she's endured. Every scratch, every bruise- a new pattern on her base. And though her skin only thickens, she hasn't lost her vulnerability, nor her sensitivity. It only takes a scratch to expose the raw green that rests behind the thick, rough brown. Only takes a prick to feel the wet, freshness of her tears on your fingers. And yet she never drops her gaze, nor turns away. She is patient, and it is only because she is patient that she is the center of this landscape, the shelter above my head, the surface I lean against, the reflection I aim to see in the mirror.
She feeds me my breaths.
Yes, finally, I have found home.
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