The trees, they are my sisters.
They call up a remembering deep within
Speaking to me
They tell me not their story, but mine.
My heart beats through their trunk,
their sap runs through my veins,
My breath entwined with theirs since birth.
Recounting the story of where I come from,
of who I was
and who I can grow to be.
Assuring me that no matter where I go, they are with me
That I have roots.
Roots that are not rotten.
Roots that I have tended,
Fed with fertile soil.
Roots that do not feed bitter leaves, but the sweetest fruits.
Roots that run deep enough to ground me
So I can reach up
These trees, I feel their embrace.
They envelope me and,
like a sister they keep my secrets
My dreams in whispers running through their leaves
Their wisdom planted, taking seed
My knowing growing in the light.
I reach up, branch out, and blossom in their image
These trees, they are my sisters.