Lindsay L. O'Connor

When I’m with the trees, 
they never make me feel 
inadequate.

Some of them have been there, 
bearing witness to all 
my joys and hurts, 
for over a decade.
We’ve grown together.

They remind me that 
seasons change
and that what I thought 
was dead
is sometimes 
resurrected.

They teach me about 
weathering storms
and how a tough exterior
forcefully pulled off 
by strong winds
reveals a smooth, 
vulnerable interior 
underneath.

They remind me 
to look up,
to remember 
my place in things,
while remaining 
firmly rooted 
to the ground.

They reward me 
with their intimate secrets
when I take the time 
to gaze in wonder,
to lean in with curiosity,
to reach out to touch the bark
and inhale the scent 
of their blossoms in spring,
and listen to the music 
of the wind in the leaves.
It sounds just like waves 
crashing in the ocean.

They invite me to remember 
long-past moments of quiet—
gazing up at the branches overhead
when I was a child,
lying by the pool 
in the summertime.

I remember jumping into 
piles of their leaves 
in the fall
and decorating their 
fragrant branches 
in winter.

That was long ago,
before I knew to feel 
inadequate.

~Lindsay L. O’Connor