There are areas of land with multiple trees, trees that have grown old. Trees that have been through history. Almost always there. Stooped above moist dirt below gray skies. Held within life, between air.
Fear of bulldozers. They stay standing, tall, thick, full. Their leaves spread out, brushing softly against one another, needing love, needing life. No words. No speaking, held together tall and bold.
Let one love, bring the sun. They grow, everyday they grow from the rays of sunshine. Take, Take, Take in the feeling of life. Of Love. They grow.
Still too far to speak, no thoughts, no words to provoke uncertainty. They will live. Oak, cherry, pine. There is hope of life, there is hope of life around here, in the middle of no where. Multiple trees connected by areas of land, lost land, lost through history. Still there’s love, still there’s life.