She was here when I arrived.
Subtle.
Unassuming.
Unremarkable to look at.
With so much nature all around,
She was one of many.
Of multitudes…
Quietly, she stood
Offering gentle shade
And a place to rest.
If one chose to do such things.
But, how would one choose her quiet peace
When the sun shone bright
And the days were long and full of light?
She waited patiently
As I frolicked.
Never judging.
Never chiding.
Full of benevolent grace.
Inherently understanding my nature
Even when it didn’t always serve me.
Kindly,
She bestowed on me a bounty
When the days grew crisp and golden.
Shorter, but also sweeter.
It was as if her branches could hardly hold the abundance.
Weighed down
With her harvest.
Bending to ease my reach.
Bearing the fruits of a long year.
I shook and I plucked and I savored
As the honeyed days of autumn
Gave way to a white winter.
With a shiver,
I saw her laid bare.
The weather of the years so stark on her skin
Without the glimmer of her giving.
A generosity that hides the wear of age…
And exhaustion.
I saw her then,
Branches drooping lifelessly.
Nourishment an impossible, imaginary luxury.
Now, almost, a cruelty.
So far from her resplendent glory.
I meant to prune her
In the cold of the longest nights.
Tend to her.
Help her heal.
But I got lost in the darkness
And time got away from me.
Time has a way of getting away…
The equinox came
And the wild daffodils defied the snow and bloomed all around her.
The clarity of their yellow,
A bitter backdrop to her relentless grey.
I chided my folly.
Why would I neglect the nectar?
The sweetest thing,
Right there for me to touch and taste.
Mine with just enough attention.
A casualty of my thoughtless distraction.
(Thought-full distraction?)
Once more, a victim of myself,
I made my tortured peace with my loss.
My masochistic sacrifice.
Weeks of watching life spring forth in contrast,
And I had to look away.
Attend to the rules and reality
That steal me from my days.
Upon my return,
I peeked through my veil of mourning
Only to find her sagging branches alight with green.
Beautiful bunches of baby blossoms bursting forth.
With a gasp, I staggered.
Tears of unearned joy and debt-filled gratitude pricked my eyes.
Humbled, I fell to my knees.
She is more powerful than we know.
Soliloquy on Imperfectionism 