Walking to the shade with my friends wealth, determination and humility. Each one radiant in their own way.
Each one close and so far from me.
I not so much as uttered a word. Each friend my guide.
Despite the cold, warmth was shared. The wind suggested so much, I was barely listening with no resistance, he went off unsatisfied like a spoilt child.
We were told to recognise the trees. How they breathe, their tones of green their reflection of light as if eyes open to the heavens, gracious green eyes.
The colour and the oxygen the leaves give off, our comfort to be near them and our peace to be close.
The leaves subtle love washes over me and my friends.
It held us in it´s fragrance and touched us where we rested, we could not want for more.
The breeze carried the breath of the trees, which then also filled our lungs and washed our mouths and minds from a city hiding from the cure.
The cold wind and distant grind disappeared from the day, and for simply being...
Laughter would be delivered to us in the hurried afternoon.
The older tree gives much, despite it´s age and condition, shocked by the lack of space, it´s roots exposed.
It´s lower branches stripped and blotched. It´s bark a surface of amazing wrinkles.
The younger tree who bears wonderful glossy pairs of new leaves before the week ends, shoots toward the sun for an instinct older than beast. It´s youth will keep for long, it´s ambition in the ascent to the sky. How well it can be endowed with fruit and flowers. An account of time written in it´s boughs, and it´s contrast´s song so well written in the seasons.
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