Not sad, depressed, or lonely.
Just quiet.
In the mornings I make a small slit in the curtains.
From where I sit at my desk, I can see a patch of sky. A white fence. A palm tree. Cars are barely visible through the fence slats as they rush by, but the tree catches most of my attention. It is tall and straight. The sun reflects off the pool, and plays on its bark.
It is this tree I stare at when I am searching for a word.
It is this tree I stare at when I am anxious or scared.
I focus on it when everything around us is spinning out of control.
It stands alone.
Quiet, like me.
Strong, like me.
Unmoving, like me.
Rooted firmly, but not too firmly. Also, like me.
It does not really belong here, in this city place. I feel it would have chosen to be planted somewhere else if anyone had bothered to consult it.
Trimmed tightly. Bothered by people walking by, and the cars that rush. Wearing deep scars where it has been cut and hit.
Yet it stands. Firm. Strong. Alive.
Bending in the wind, but not breaking.
The sun plays across its bark as it reaches to a blue sky.
This city place will not keep it from being beautiful.
It will not steal its strength.
