I usually visit my sit spot in the mornings. I only lasted a little while today...I came out of the woods and wrote! a poem?? I haven’t written a poem since the glory days of acrostics in elementary school. weird. All this talk about words must be rubbing off on me.
when I leaned against your trunk
and felt your rough bark in my back
and your knotty, hard wood in my arms
you taught me what I needed.
we sit together again.
Not in my storm
but for my homework
your lesson transcends context.
You deliver it even though I don’t want it.
I hate you for your bark, and your trunk, and your knotty, hard wood
for your gentle, swaying certainty
for teaching me again
what I need