I woke one morning and wandered into the open and gazed toward them. They stood still and tall, not a care in view, one or two peering back toward me, the one with feet. I stood for a moment, feeling their gaze, the air, the light and moisture on my face and hands.

They turned back toward the light, the sunrise, their source of energy, and life. Quietly welcoming the new day, roots planted firmly, deeply, growing, into the earth below.

I wandered toward them, toward the eastern light. A rustling of branches and leaves giving song and welcoming me to step into their home, the forest of friends and family, children and grandchildren, and those now long since turned into soil.

The birds had been awake for some time now, chirping and fussing of this and that. One noticed my approach and looked down at me as I stepped onto the forest floor and began walking on the plane below. The winged creature, clearly able to navigate this world in a third dimension with ease and without assistance from another, questioned my survival.

The tree does not have a name. Man may call it by one because of the way it looks and grows and is, but it does not know this. The tree does not have a name for man. It knows only that some do harm and some do not … even still, in the moment, there is no judgment in the gathering of tree, of man or bird- We are simply together, roots planted, feet still, the birds claws, clutching a branch or twig.

As the sun continued it’s morning journey, life continued to percolate, leaves breathed in and transpired, birds stepped into the air, rose and swooped, looking for food. The roots of the trees twitched and stretched, seeking water from a day before. I looked up in marvel and breathed gently the precious breezes of life.

As I stood, in the majestic of their home, I found the strength and agility to challenge the little bird’s question. I approached one of the giants, a calm and secure one, with limbs low and in reach … and stepped into her… Waiting Tree