Oak Tree

My hands grasp the branches, coarse bark scratching my hands.  The tree is young, like me, branches still pliable over time.  I hoist myself to the lowest branch, book sandwiched between my arm and my side.  As I slide into my special space, I breathe in fall.  The leaves on this Live Oak will remain green through the winter, while the acorns grow with hopes of new life.  The tree envelops me in a leafy embrace as I sit on my branch-seat.  Alone, I am free in the carefully-manicured landscape of suburban nature.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s