I wake up and my tea is cold.

I just got home from my first day of highschool and I fell asleep on the covered back porch of my home looking out at a large field in the backyard. 

Acres and acres of grass 

but one tall willow tree stands at a distance in the middle of the field. 

It’s fall and the tree is withering, 

soon it will be bare of its fruitful leaves,

and the birds will have flown south. 

There is a small yellow swing

hanging from the tree from an old rickety rope slightly swaying in the wind in the same direction of the tree’s branches. 

The wind is blowing.

It brings a brisk chill to the air,

the seasons are changing and so is the tree. 

I’m home from college and my tea

has gone cold again.

I’m doing an online meeting for my internship on the covered porch of my home.

I can barely focus on my laptop as 

I watch the willow tree’s branches sway in the wind. 

It’s spring now and the leaves should have grown back by now, 

but there are no signs of growth. 

My mother calls from inside our home, 

so I go inside, taking my eyes off the lonesome tree. 

I’m home for Thanksgiving break from medical school.

I take a nap after dinner on the back porch breathing in the chilly air in hopes of my full stomach shrinking and my mind clearing. 

I stare out into the acres of grass and realize

that’s all it is now. 

I look out in search of something that is no longer there.

The willow tree has been cut down.

As it settles in my mind that the tree and my swing is gone, 

I realize I’ve let a few tears slip down my cheeks. 

I realize the brisk air sends shivers down my spine rather than relaxing  me.

My tea is cold and I am cold, 

but the cold isn’t coming from the breeze, it’s coming from within me.