The Mulberry Tree

Shelley Ayres

I climb the crooked slats nailed to the trunk of our gnarly old mulberry tree.

My safe haven waits patiently for my return.

I reach the plank floor of the tree house and swiftly lie on my back.

I exhale a smile at the leaves waving at me from their branches.

I feel the dappled warmth of sunlight on my skin.

I inhale deeply, consuming the scent of ripe berries and old wood.

With each breath I distance myself from the uneasiness that had invaded me.

The tree, my tree, is the calmness that I crave.

This tree is magical.

September 8, 2013