I’m beautiful, regal and tall. I raise my arms to the sky and feel the warmth of the sun on my body. I’ve grown taller this year, my leaves are lush and green. The grass around me is soft and begs you to come sit for a spell.
Every day – for months – you come outside and lean against me while writing in your journal. Some days you write nothing, you just nibble the end of your pen and stare blankly off into the distance lost in your thoughts. Other days you write so fast you barely look up.
Days pass and a chill sets in. The sun isn’t as warm, but you still come. You wear thick sweaters, scarves and hats pulled snugly over your ears, but you come. You often bring a camera along with your notebook, and take pictures of my colorful leaves. Your excitement is palpable as you circle my vibrant display snapping picture after picture. You lean against me, I wish I could wrap my arms around you to keep you warm, but you shiver. You begin spending less time with me, but I understand.
You no longer come and I’m alone. My brown leaves lay dry and scattered around me. I stand stark and naked as the snow begins to fall. I see you in the frosty window looking out at me. You raise your hand to the glass, as if to wave, you mouth, “soon”.
We wait out winter together, but apart. Spring will be here before you know it and the warm sun will bring my green leaves back and you’ll be back too.
We wait… together, but apart.