To the Trees I Now Cling: A Response

To the Trees I Now Cling

Gravity still exists, as do I, and we carry on. In tandem, entangled. Downward, centered, onward we go. In its constant nature, it allows me a moment's rest with Mother Earth. My spine sinks into a sea of grass, and I am settled. Embodied. Weighed down and drawn deep into the earth's core. I feel safe, and planted, like the mother maple that so kindly breaks up the sky above me. So badly do I want to be rooted along with her. Here to stay. Gravity, let me breathe in post-rain petrichor and dig my grass-stained nails into the red sodden floor. Crooked limbs, bend to greet me; leaves, fall to clothe me as I am. I count my rings and I am young. Gravity, don't give up on me now. Hold me fast, and allow me to exist here and now. Give me passion for tomorrow. Root me, and let me age with the trees I now cling.