the growing tree (an original poem)

she ran -- it was cold --

through the aged woods of her friends.

they called for her, echoes of her past lives.

but she was missing something, 

there was something else,

something more...

she fled to the edge of the forest,

stopping at a cliff in front of her.

those woods must have gone on for eons.

but the cliff was still, it was quiet.

she saw one tree.

a short tree, but strongly rooted.

it called to her, she was alone.

she ran to the tree.

she looked into the knothole it contained.

she cried.

she saw herself.

she was growing.

she was strong.

she was starting over.

~the growing tree, 27 november 2024