You are so brave holding on to a branch as the seasons change you.
That tree is your friend.
A true friend who knows the delicate patterns of your green heart.
I wish I was more like you and had a strong tree to hold me as the seasons change me.
The woodcutter has felled my forest as he always eventually does.
“Cannot make a tree bend where it cannot grow” the woodcutter’s words chop away to the core.
He swings his axe calling out my other names that are hidden in the wind, the names I secretly whispered.
A whisper that is now a vein bleeding sap on the forest floor.
I saw you a few years ago, it was you just another kind of you and I marveled at your willingness to show me beauty.
I cannot grow without love, a love that heeds not the ugly vine that grows around me.
I will ask the woodcutter to come to tea and bring his ready axe.
Maybe he will be my friend and lend me his axe.
Have I been sharpening the blade with my whisperings ?
© K S Hardy 2011
Do we accept our ‘ugliness’ or do we cut it out to shape ourselves to be a better fit in the forest of life……