Trundling, half dying of thirst and my wearied Being half slaked by its promise of release, a bosky presence answered my croaking voice remembering a memory of love aloud. The days continued; I hugged the tree; I supped from its dew. I thought then that if I left its shade, the invisible and scavenging past would have me again, defenseless. But God had given me a choice that was no choice: I had to go. And the tree followed. The tree uprooted and followed. I walked in awe of this miracle of locomotion until I saw that I had become rooted as it once was.
And I realized that it had been waiting for me to help it walk; its dew our tears ours again.
No comments:
Post a Comment