a tree killed a cousin of mine
on the third month of last year
when the mornings were still getting used to waking without fields of crystals,
gifts brought in by bitter nights.
when he was still getting used to being born,
and taking long walks through mountain trails to deal with that burden.
perhaps trees deal with similar burdens and perhaps they long to take those walks.
on that day, at that exact time, on the same burden-ridden trail, a tree found it’s voice.
finally, the courage to have a voice, and express that voice.
a cracking, newly found voice in the form of a declaration
to the mountains and to those fellow travelers who pass through there
about how life and death are directly linked to love and time,
and we exist,
in the space where our love is greater,
for more time than we exist out of it…
death isn’t fateful or ironic
it’s necessary and probable.