The trees have
Their own story to tell.
Their roots run deep,
Slow and powerful
Beyond what my eyes can perceive.

To their wisdom.
The ever silent witness
Present to the environment,
The changing seasons,
The years come and gone,
Steady and silent.

Touch the tree bark.
Its rough outer edge.
Can I be a witness
Without that hard exterior?
Can I be vulnerable,
Exposed to all the elements
And be just as slow and powerful?

Not hardened to the lessons
But provide a shelter, 
To nest and give respite
To the quiet integration;
To take nourishment,
To be held and to hold
All who pass and take shelter?

What emerges from the wisdom?
What tales do I want to share?

The trees have their own story to tell.
If I get still and quiet,
I can hear their wisdom. 

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