Tree

I cannot seem to let the wind blow through an open window,

or let the rain fall upon the roof without hearing the whispering of two trees.

Intertwined and interlinked.

Each bending to accommodate the other.

Each swaying to a tune that I cannot hear.

And each time I find a lone tree, 

steady, tall, strong,

that I can lean upon to rest my weary legs and soothe my breathing heart,

I look up.

I look up to find a fir tree or an oak tree bending in,

just about to wrap its tendril of cool, damp leaves around my tree.

But it is not my tree, 

and it never was.

It bends to meet the other tree,

far quicker than I could climb up to create a barricade with my body,

but never my soul.

No, my soul stays planted firmly on the ground,

with my logic,

afraid that it will once again fall and be injured by joining me on my perilous climb.

I should stop looking up.

No, I cannot reach the trees. 

And seemingly, I never will.

For I am left in Autumn,

while they proceed happily to Spring.