| . . . . .The sun rises for another day, magnificent is the durability of his presence, though I share no partiality for him. His counterpart, the moon, in all her radiance, beckons me with her ever changing phases. The nights alone and in peril are never felt in solitude, for she is always there. Her fecundity impregnates my mind with hope and love, a mother who is not paternal, a lover that is always there, a sister that always cares. However, the sun, is blistering and pervasive, but without his energy, I would not survive on this alien terrain. No matter how much I curse and chide him, he prevails over my wrought disappointment. The stars are present and I long to reach out and touch them, yet they are inaccessible and distant. All of the beauty they posses never encompasses, nor ordains the accompaniment of myself. I am disconnected; I am merely a spectator. . . . . . How I wish to be a part of this heavenly constellation, and within it create one of mine own. How can I create something that has only been presented to me in fragments? How can I give the sun his due when I cast hatred upon him like he casts life upon me? The breeze of kindness and love blows from friends and family alike, but I feel like I need more than their soft caresses, I feel like I need to be rocked by a hurricane to re-center my lines of normality. I love the moon and the stars and I owe homage to the sun. When I sit outside and gaze upon the moon and stars, bathed in a gentle breeze, I feel alone and bereft. I do not feel comforted when I lay myself in dew-laden grass. I feel more comfortable in a drenching downpour with strong, squalling winds. I feel more comfortable in turbulent times than in the gentle times of peace and laxity. Love is a trammel to me more than the treasure that it should be. Futility is all that I feel when I try to reach heavenly for familial love: Unobtainable and elusive is that which I desire. Something that is easily reached by others is the greatest obstacle for me. Why am I not ordained to be with the heavenly bodies that I was born into? . . . . .I tug and pull at the roots that bind me to this craggy surface in vain. I am bound to this place like any other flora or fauna. I arose from the ground one warm, sunny spring day some years ago. I could not have picked a better place to sprout from; I have ample space to stretch my branches and roots. I am at the center of a field in which I shelter passing animals in the hot mid-day sun. My beauty and presence are my most venerated traits. That is the only problem though, people come and they go and they adore the sweet fruits that I produce, but they always seem to find a tree closer to their origins to ensnare their awe and their needs. . . . . .I am sturdy and beautiful, yet I always tend be alone in my lofty field of dreams. One day I fear that my fruit will become barren, my branches will lose their effective coverage, and I will be cleaved into lumber and used to heat a home for the winter: my dying sacrifice. The only edifice that I can contrive is to give openly and freely. Rarely does one stop and realize all that I ask for in return is what I give. I wish to adore one’s splendor, I wish to bask in someone else’s protective canopy, I wish to eat the sweet fruit of someone else’s branches. Is it that I do not advertise myself efficiently? Or is it that my niche in life has become ingrained to the point where it can not be reversed? I am but a pair of eyes in the middle of a vast, open field of dreams. . . . . .In the mists of an early autumn morning I bask in the airs sweet, odorous fragrance. The sweet smell of the grass heavily burdened with the nights dew and vigorous fog. I delight in these mornings because everything seems tranquil and ill at ease. The fog appears to roll off the mountains that surround me like water off a ducks back. The air is chilled but not freezing and Life seems to be in a vacuum. Time has all but stopped. I have never felt more at ease when days like these rolls around and present itself like a precious gift from above. These are the days that I feel like a baby in my mother’s arms. I am carried to sleep on the whim of a sweet breeze from the mountain’s arduous hillsides. I let down my branches and succumb to this heavenly bliss. I let every experience soak into my trunk and I am saturated with the atmosphere. I am at one with nature and I am totally comforted by Life’s gift. These are the days I love. These are the days when I have no need for anyone, not even myself. These are the days when I feel like I am part of this ecosystem. I feel like I belong. |