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Roots

The bare branches of the tired old tree towering tall above me creak in the frigid whistling wind coated in a covering of frosty snow glazed over with a sheet of ice from the freezing rain that followed I have not reached the age to hear such sounds emanating from my bones that have not yet grown brittle and easily broken I still have time At least a little Though I know the sand slips through the hourglass with every second I stand here I don’t look or feel old yet Even so my life is likely already at least half over My mind is as agile and youthful as it was twenty years ago How can it be that I see myself in that tree? It is not what ascends upwards from the ground but what lies below that is a reflection of me its roots rendering it resolutely immobile From the time it first sprouted it has persisted in its position It will do so until it dies and is cut down I who once envisioned myself gallivanting across the globe do not even possess a passport never having had the need A prisoner in this place that has never in my heart felt like home I should be across the sea where my bloodline began Where my ancestors abided In the land where they take time for tea and the Thames flows fluidly past parks and palaces where kings and queens held court Perhaps someday I’ll have the opportunity to uproot myself Transplant my body where it truly belongs before my own branches begin to creak and groan under the terrible weight of time

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things