Each day, new leaves
burst forth from their buds,
and soak up the warmth and the love
s u n.
B u t
buried amidst the roots, I am silent and soil. 'Yes, deep in the soil'. I am the nitrogen seeping into its roots, I was the carbon dioxide breathing into its leaves. I was a man, once. I read so many books, roaming the earth (and many other earths) only in my mind. So how fitting, then, this end, having sat so still for much of my humanity, that I am now feeding this tree. Becoming this tree. Becoming something alive and yet still and immovable. I think that I shall always know lives like this.
Winter has come. Time for sleep. I will slumber, and dream of sunshot days where I will shake my branches in joy, gazing down at the one who sits in my shade, reading, yearning to be like him once more.