Thing 18: Name the trees that stood in the neighbourhood where you grew up

I wanted to do something a little different with this one. Originally posted to Facebook on June 16th, 2013, this is one of the more abstract pieces I've written.

Thing 18: Name the trees that stood in the neighbourhood where you grew up.

A man walks. He is sure of his steps, but unsure of his destination. He is called, but uncalling. The path is all.

Before, the sentinel watches. Ever vigilant, ever silent. A resolute gaze sees the man, but does not judge.

Around, the dancers away. Slender, tall, the wind moves them. There is no goal, for only the dance is real. Neither creak nor groan will deter.

Above, the mother nurtures. Life is wrought as path is circled in loving embrace. To many, the mother is home. To many, the mother is life.

Below, the unders sneak. To be seen, and to be unseen. To be many, and to be one. For this is strength, and this is safety.

Behind, the unliving sit. Once of themselves, and now more so. The unliving shelter. The unliving protect. The unliving support. In death, others may live. In death, purpose.