Tree
Branches point, stretching bark upwards
To be tickled by the waiting sun;
Dapples of yellow lie in freckles.
The body straightens, this back my rod
Stabilising me, keeping me from falling
Into an endless slide I do not need.
Feet stand heavy, sinking downwards,
Seeking to penetrate the soil beneath
But I am still in perfect synchronicity.
My roots spread out like hair, feeling
Their way - tapered fingers gathering dirt,
Digging down deeper into this wet earth.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, March/April 2020
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