My Perspective of Choice

06-11-2022

Where can a tree stretch but the very ground into which it was planted?
The Trunk is stale if not for those tendrils of root,
in weave and woe,
searching for nothing but water and
sustenance—seeking not progress, neither furthering
ambition nor intuition, but simply yearning for
life whether in abundance or providing minimal fulfillment.
Motivation here is stable, with an eye toward gradual maturity.
Somewhat of a choice was made by that
seedling to become a tower or a bush.

Budding leaves give luscious seeds, wanting to
fall upon the grass in an adventure
being carried out by some measure of distance or wind speed.
Waiting becomes a virtue.
Passion amid change is a necessary flexibility.
But above all, surrounds themselves in a thick
bark, the tree, to protect its delicate strands within:
a result not of determination or choice,
but evolution
out of the afflictions of life itself.

Oh, I tell you, make to stretch like a tree.