Roots

She stands strong—

surrounded, yet alone.

Pleasant to look at,

but easily forgotten.

She sways, just slightly,

rooted deep, reaching high—

bigger than many, smaller than most.

Solid.

Older.

Vulnerable to a single strike.

The sky is blue,

but a storm rages.

When she breaks—whether a splinter or a shatter—

it is sad, but she is strong.

The noticers continue on.

She wants to crumble,

but her roots are too damn deep.

They nourish the smaller ones,

feeding wisdom, kindness, joy.

The drought has been too long.

A few branches wither—

Still she stands.