sprouted dreams

Oh that big bad world. With all its chemistry and sites, o passion and envy. And here I stand like a firm little oak tree in a vast forest forcing my branches to the Sun. Sun shine on me. And I stretch and wait. Try not to get distracted by the glow of the beetles exploring my length, or shiver when a man comes by to look me once over- to see if I’m worth slaying. But I desire to play, I want to have legs, not roots. I see all the animals in the forest roam, I see what they bring back, and the glint in their eye like they’ve been transformed. But I’ve only changed from fall to spring to summer to winter and back- the excitement has become dull. I want to know what it looks like above the tree tops, I want to feel the wind without all the rest of the forest crowding in. I want to sprout feet and roam continent after continent! Broaden my horizons on the east the west the north the south! Callous my toes twist my tongue to new sounds etch an epic story into my spine! I want to sit quietly and watch, experiencing the world in motion, then get up and play along. I want to be transformed! Don’t get me wrong, standing here, very stilly, has made me stronger, taught me that all nourishment is offered from the Sun. Sun rays have endowed me with a new skin, given me vibrant life beyond my power. But yet here I‘m rooted, standing like a triumphant piece in a garden, and I can’t help but look around and notice that the landscape has become quite dry. For months now, I find myself watching the gravity of the ground, the wind rocking my turning leaves, dreaming by day, scheming by night. All the while, praying for a sizable hurricane-what a sure liftoff it would bring!

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