There is a tree...

There is
a tree in the
crook of the
mountain's arm

She is burled with
a thousand
winters
when
her sap was
slow and
her knees
pulled
lower into
the
hardening earth
before
it refused
to yield
even
a
drop
of
what
she
needed..

I climb into
her
low branches
in the
early spring
and
lay my cheek
against her
rough
skin...

her new
growth...
flexible and
young
sings with the
soft breezes of
white blossoms
and
sweet fruit...

as a child
she was
my
spa,
retreat,
hiding place
from all
that
loomed
dark and
stormy...
a boy's teasing,
a
girls
sharp words,
a father's
frustration
with a
world
he could not
change...

she fed my body
and
my soul...

She was
God's
mothering
when
there were
too many
mouths to feed

I loved her...