For a day and a day I sat waiting, wondering whether to shake the palm or sit beneath it quietly, I chose the latter, not wishing to disturb the hornet’s nest, but missed out on the dessert of sweet dates, where the lichen grew I added a stare and a sigh. I delved into the part of the trunk that was the heart and surveyed twice more the night. In indeterminate measures I chased the scribe away, pleading for more time to feather the nest of my iniquity and to find strength thru some morbidity, but the title of the story just has eluded me thus far. Prickles on the pine needles, jolt me awake from my sleepy state and not even the soft clouds or the sombre news of delays would hearten the heavy. I sent out a song in b-flat and asked for the chorus in c-major, I sang a song styled from the trumpet of my desires and my hopes all flew out the window in a dirge…but still the mellow pan pipe with it’s hauntingness, staged a show and bent my mind into crescendos whipped by willows in the wind and I felt what it was like to taste the wilderness of my soul and the lostness of others. I set my sail to the catch the north winds and went to sail on the morrow, where the catchy jagged rockiness of waves formed into peaks belted the underneath of my memory so that I slept in fits and starts…but when I saw the mulberry leaves reaching toward heaven, I noticed the tenderest shoots were not afraid to seek out the sun, nor did they run from the rain or the thunder, they did not shelter under stronger, tougher, wider leaves, they stood their ground and developed their strength, all in good time, the tree shall fruit, as each leaf played their part, all in good time.