Reflections

We are born into this world naked and squalling.
New.
Cleansed of the choices of our previous exploits
Upon this endless wheel we walk.
But nature is born with its memory intact.
She is born in the hush of morning dew
In the violence of the storm
Knowing full well her past present and future.
To be born of nature, as a human – is a curse and blessing both.
You grow wild and roving
Your branches spread high
Your existence sprawls endlessly
For you have always been, and will always be.
A piece of you remembers the soft bare feet padding through the underbrush
The stink of human suffering
And the whispered lies from the mouths of men.
Even young trees feel old.

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