Posted by: jade crystal harmon
Do we envy the trees?
Their lot is decided when that maple key spins into soft loam, when that squirrel forgets where it buried the acorn.
They make do with the years-long reach for water.
They wait, without thumbs or loppers, as the hasty grapevine encircles it.
Do they mourn when all the forest around them is felled? Do they feel lucky to be the chosen wolf tree shading the pasture, crown spreading as wide as the roots below, ancient, leaning, waiting for lightning?
We legged ones can run from the drought, though it may be into the path of a tiger.
What are our roots?
What both binds and feeds us?