It’s not the rugged texture of you, your structure baked hard against the trunk. Firm, protective, boundaried, yet porous and also somehow held.
It’s not your quiet, invitational presence, your participation in the passing of time.
Your tender acceptance of the comings and going of life. Of weather, of creatures, of me.
It’s not your sweet and mysterious cracks and crevices, your tentative slow peeling back, nor your courage or willingness to submit completely to shedding when the season is just right.
No, it’s not even your surrendered peelings rotting generously into the ground. Though I have to say, I love that!
There are indeed infinite reasons to love you, bark. But what really touches my heart is the simple miracle of your existence.
Here with me.
Our existence.
You exist on your tree and I exist too.
Somehow, this is all possible and we are here in this moment to bear witness to each other.
To stand bare and witness.
I don’t know if i’d call it gratitude or remembrance or some deep needed healing but the simple act of being together, that’s what makes me cry.
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