The Walnut

The Walnut

I sit beneath her, crunched into fallen leaves, against geraniums leaking out their potent scent. That tamed October sun blasts through canyons left by dropping leaves.

A presence, calm and strong. Persistent. Day after day, all day, year upon year, facing sun, rain, snow, wind, hearing laughter, tears, silence, and shrieks. How does she stretch her arms so wide? She creates a blanket, a climate all her own. She owns that space, arms forming an outstretched mind, an expression of Her being, mysterious and known.

To say thank you is just words. No one does it for thank you. Gratitude is felt and compels, a certain way of being, of acting. I apologize out of guilt and numbness. And she stays her course, neither pleased nor dismayed, arms stretching out out out, balancing on the rock below.

I see you. We are here, together, sharing space and place and time. I try to remember, I try to feel, to listen and learn to stretch my arms out, make shade, stay the course.

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