Facts are facts.  I once was a tree.  I forget what good idea it was for me to be walking, talking and moving around from state to state to skyscraper to valley.  The grass seems to be greener there in the forest surrounded by rooted friends, indulging in time so slowly. 

But my tall spiritual kin remind me that I am a warrior, taking on the lonely task of scouting ahead in feelings.  My time in dark woods is what gives me soft compassion hearing others “would if I could but I should” things that go bump in the black night of the soul.  There is no evil that grows in the night, but lack of the flame of faith that lights the way from within.

I have been still a thousand years soft with moss, tough with rough skin, catching the caress of Sol before others, bending in the circle of wind and season.  I am That I am that today.