I sit at the base of the tree and wonder how deep the roots go.
Do they reach deep into the ground, to keep the tree from swaying when the winds beat against the branches?
Or do they skim just below the surface, just praying that a hurricane won't tear them down?
Do the branches reach to the sky in vain, reaching for the clouds that will turn against them at a moment's notice?
Or do their outstretched arms invite the life-giving rain to fall and run down their leaves and hardened bark to nourish them at the core?
The more I sit here and feel the wind beat against my coat, the more I watch the leaves roll and crackle, I realize my uncertainties are misdirected.
