Tree

I am a tree.

Reaching long arms up towards the sky.

My roots run deep in familiar soil.

My leafs are bright and many, dancing with the strands of the breeze against a summer's dusky horizon line. 

My leafs turn red when the wind blows cold. 

And in winter I will stand bare, slender, and naked awaiting the first blue bird to alight upon my gray branches.

On the first warm morning of spring, I will blossom, pink and white, even in the face of the cold and coming night.

I will grow with grace, from my roots, forever searching and turning and reaching for the light.

You may come and share my shade.

Share my soil and the rain.

You may come and share my bounty of fruit.

I will give freely to your hunger and the traveled soles of your feet. 

But if you turn to me with wide eyes, hopeful for burning answers, to the inside riddles of your heart.

My slender arms, my reaching fingers, will always point upwards, towards the center of the light and the dark.

I am a tree. 

Standing. Dancing with the wind. 

I am small but I am mighty.