#178-Wooden reflections

Tree trunk: “What do you see?”

Me: “An old piece of wood.”

Tree trunk: “Not very imaginative this morning, are we?”

Me: “Guess not. Any ideas?”

Tree trunk: “Pretend you’re me. What do I feel?”

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Grey lines and cracks,

Nature’s imprint,

Of days passing by.

Memories wound in circles,

Ignored, decaying emotions.

Old, splintered, and bruised,

I’m still beautiful.

I don’t need a mirror to see.

The circles in me speak.

I listen, and believe.