The tree

She didn’t take the gift from the box for years. She didn’t feel she needed it, even though it’s something she’d wanted.

Unwrapping it at a birthday dinner, string lights splayed in a dim lit garden with rustic wooden furniture and friendly foreign waiters, she had packaged it back in its now-ripped paper to take home, curly ribbon and all.

Now she lay in the golden light of her warm room, arms outstretched. The words coming through her headphones made more sense than anything. Overwhelming emotions leaked out of her eyes again. A release.

They talked of the tree. Its roots are deeply ingrained in this human earth. It’s leaves loll gently, sometimes burn furiously, in the spirit of the night and the great light of the wild moon.

The gift came into focus. It sat meekly on the dresser.

Grounded, her chest open, she began to float up. The challenge now was to stand down, let go of expectation.

No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.


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