Delight

Does the tree

feel dismay

about her scars?

Or the places where

a bug burrowed,

a bird made its nest?

Does the tree

wish to hide her bark

where it is weathered,

stained, and rough?

Does the tree

feel ashamed

of her asymmetry?

No. The tree

delights

in her strength,

in the way she grows hard

as she ages.

She holds spaces

to share

to feed

to shelter.

 

 

Just as the sapling,

uncertain as a fawn,

delights

in her trembling beginning.

And the seed,

full to bursting of promise,

delights

in her prelude

of cool, cool earth.

 

The tree

delights

in herself

until

she

falls.