April 23, 2011
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Hands gliding like the wind across its stiff amber skin,
I begin to reminisce.
Once climbed and relaxed in the crevice of its sweet
sugar smelling trunks,
reminding me of a warm winter time breakfast.
I hold on to its comforting memory.

The memory and bark break from my hands.
This bark that was rough at the surface is now
Soft and flimsy in my hands.
It has apologized for not being the shelter
It once was,
and has brought me to reality.
Disappointed, I descend the tree.
Amongst looking back, I take in its halo of blacks, grays, and green
Roots spreading every which way into the frail earth.
Burrowed into the ground, arms extending above, never ending,
it calls me for an embrace once more.

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