an acorn.


When I think about a younger me
I think I liken myself to an acorn
small
insignificant
at least if you only give it a passing glance
No one looks at an acorn and completely considers its future
But I like to think ever acorn has an idea of
its planting
its germination
a vision of the day it finally takes root
and sprouts for folks to see and love
But only
if it has the right soil
the right sunshine
and the right amount of blessing from Gaia Herself

I think I liken myself to an acorn
that fell from my mother tree onto a gravel road
desperately trying to bury myself under bits of shale and limestone
sustaining myself off water runoff
and what scarce nutrients the rocks provide

Or perhaps on another day
I liken myself to an acorn
landing in front of a squirrel’s burrow
noticed with hungry eyes the moment I land

I particularly liken myself to an acorn that lands
in a freshly planted flower bed
growing in tandem with roses
hyacinths
ivy
lavender
a sunflower or two
all sharing the same mulch and soil

As we grow some of our roots tangle and struggle
I need more than anyone else in order to survive
and nature is cruel and indifferent
My roots emerge rough and invasive
my trunk tall and wide
my leaves canopying over my companions
The sunshine was mine
All mine

I’ve grown sturdy and true
but I feel above my roots
mangled stems
useless leaves
rotten petals and thorns of those around me
who didn’t survive as well as I

Sometimes I can hear the flowers
in the soil I’m rooted in
and they seem to see me as a villain
I can’t find the heart to disagree
and nothing I can do can make flowers bloom

I liken myself to an acorn
and I have no idea where I’ve been planted
or who is too close to my roots
But no matter.
Not much can be done about it now.

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