The tree and her immense world

The tree

I sat with the most fascinating tree today.

She was an assembly of everything—

every hue, every season.

One branch stood bare, shivering in winter’s quiet.

Another burned amber, autumn clinging to its last breath.

Spring peeked through—soft green, a single bloom.

She carried them all, unbothered by time.

I have always felt at odds with myself,

scattered across seasons,

never quite whole.

Here—

but not here.

I am always living many realities of myself,

(many of which are dreams).

Maybe it’s okay to create your own world.

Maybe some can—

and should—

disobey the rules.

I looked at her,

my dear tree,

her happy bloom

despite the brazen winter.

I wondered if I, too, could live like that—

holding every version of myself at once,

a harmony of paradoxes,

rooted yet unbound,

untethered to time,

unshackled from the weight of now.

Even as part of her ached,

another part bloomed—

a single yellow flower.