cultivation

I think if at any point in your day you were able to look and find beauty, then it was a successful day.  I often look toward the trees for inspiration — scabs and scars upon their backs and bellies; symbols of growth, time doing its telling.  I ponder just how far their roots must stretch into the dirt, providing firm footing for me to tread upon, casting a woven blanket upon the earth.  And yet they reach — branches like arms, twigs for fingers — they beckon to the sun, mercilessly pleading to be closer.  Intertwining and connecting without even touching, each limb of the same tree which came from a single seed planted there in the ground; buried to be forgotten, yet look what came to be!

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