My Sycamore Friend

From the house,

not very far, on a hillock.

stands a sycamore.

Spring or summer,

autumn or winter,

I walk up to it

to sit under its canopy.

Sometimes green,

sometimes rust,

I rest beneath its dappled shade

to enjoy solitude,

to reflect on life,

to listen to the susurrus,

to see komorebi.

I listen to birdsongs on its bough,

see it's leaves twirl and fall,

when the inner child desires,

I wear a leaf tiara too.

It is my peace haven,

my happy place.

Who said trees can’t be friends?

They surely can be.

They inspire, they de-stress.

I am glad to have this sycamore

to visit when I feel sad.

I return home happy,

energized, sanity restored.

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