Murdered.
Older than me.
One of my constants,
a steadying factor.
A symbol:
Hope,
not the end.
Hard things
lead to blessings,
By experience.
Live and
let
go.
Grow above.
Sitting with the animals,
pondering life:
hope,
peace,
freedom
The future.
Excitement,
followed by
plans,
dread,
worry,
imperfections.
“A tale as old as time”
Changing directions,
hiding in plain sight.
This guide post,
this big tree
symbolizes so many things.
The decision to cut you down:
so sudden,
so final.
They didn’t tell me.
I still forget you’re gone.
I sit on your stump,
explaining my
imperfections,
discomforts,
and misdeeds.
Never expressing
my sadness
or wishing
you were still there.
I accepted your fate;
the finality of it.
I won’t replace you.
Even now,
so many miles away.
I see your cousins,
your friends,
and teachers.
All so kind,
just like you.
It’s not the same, though.
Picnicking,
never sitting too close.
They’d never know,
but I would.
10 years gone by.
I never wrote down the date,
but I know it’s soon.
You never knew my secrets,
but you’re the only one that
I would have told.
Because you’re my Grandmother Willow.
