Speak to me, wee patch of forest, growing wild and free.
Speak to me of battles seen and trees plundered,
Of slow growth and steadfastness,
Of changes hidden and seasons sustained,
Of regeneration and expectancy.
Speak to me, towering tree, brave enough to shed your leaves while others still hold on.
Speak to me of courage and letting go,
Of not being afraid to stand alone because you trust in what is to come,
Of years of growth and transitions endured,
Of branches drawing my eyes to the great beyond.
Speak to me, vivid scarlet oak, still showing off your glamour.
Speak to me of poise and boldness,
Of confidence and assertiveness,
Of enjoyment and delight,
Of peace and alluring grace.
Speak to me, young maple sapling, valiantly showing modest colors.
Speak to me of hopes and dreams,
Of new beginnings and humble starts,
Of the circle of life and connection to surroundings,
Of dependency and unresisting meekness.
Speak to me, aged rotting stump, you who were once a sturdy tree.
Speak to me of carrying the cross and death to self,
Of aging graciously and life well-lived,
Of memories and secrets kept,
Of revival and resurrection.
All of nature, speak to me.
You, the created, speak to me,
That I might hear the Maker of all.
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