Look around, little one.
These trees have seen grandparents of grandparents.
They have known old gods.
They have known you.

Beech, birch, maple, hemlock, pine.

But they have their own names.
Secret names.
Listen close and deep and true.
You will know them.

A tawny owl makes his home in the knot of this one.
Was the injury
That fostered the knot
That fosters life
bad
or good?

And what of your scars?

Root down.
Reach up.
Let wind sway you.
Let light feed you.

You have lived and grown
Through fire
Through drought
Through lightning
Through torrent.

Are you less perfect
For your storms?

You have twisted
Stretched
Out of darkness
Into life.

Are you less beautiful
For your yearning?

You have known autumn.
You know what it is to stop giving
To what will not grow
And let it go
Back into Mystery.

Are you less eternal
For your seasons?

Are you here
To solve problems
Or to be solved by them?

You are not bark or burl.
You are not storm or season.
Deep down
Past rings
Of time and circumstance
You are unblemished Love
Growing
Going
Where it needs to.

You are scarred and bruised
Because you dance and fight and shout and sing.
Would you set that aside for safety?

Child, be alive in this life!
Run
Stumble
Rise again!
Glorious and graceful
For the fall!