The mother tree stood in silence somewhere in the middle of a long forgotten hammock glade. The morning dew lit brightly by the dawn. Crystals hanging from her leafy fingers. I said a secret kind of prayer as I approached. Something from my childhood. Not wanting to disturb her slumber lest her limbs began to thrash wildly like before.

Mother

Mother

Withered and rough, I felt her furrowed bark cut into the skin of my thighs as I began to climb. Eyes still wet with disappointment and fear. Heart full of shadows.

Reaching higher and higher looking down occasionally to see if anything had followed me I knew I was almost there. I calmed myself so as not to rush. One slip from her heights could leave bruises best not explained. 

I found my space worn smooth by years of reverence. I took my usual position on my belly, limbs hanging loosely, face pressed against her bark. I would remain until my tears stopped, until my pain dulled, until I smiled. Her arms rocking me gently with the breeze. Her scent filling my nostrils with that loamy warmth.

Eyes dried, heart lighter, healed.

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