A few drops of rain turned into a raging,

thunderous, torrent.

The dark clouds cleared from the sky,

the rays of light flickering into a kaleidoscope of magical assortments.

Sunlight peering between the trees,

I could feel it from the tips of my leaves,

to my deepest roots,

they were most absorbent.

My roots began to shoot through the soil in the deep earth of your forest.

Flowing from your lips,

was a bird’s song so delicately chorused.

We clung to sweet,

balmy evenings.

Joyfully ignoring the frequent foggy mornings in August.

Not one worry or fright,

our whispers bristling air through our leaves,

our branches intertwining as promised.

Crisp fall air is where we felt the calmest.

What happened next was unjust,

the evidence in a pile of sawdust.

One chop by an axe to grind,

the unwinding of our roots felt treasonous.

Firewood crackling in the now,

crisp winter.

It was villainous.

Hope sprang forth,

as tree leaves and flowers began unfurling all around us.

The first fall of spring rain from your salty tears,

was here to restore us.