There’s almost no way not to lean in, not to be drawn in toward the flower buds, changing, on this tree all tilted, slanted, crooked in the soil, the Earth’s root-hold ever so precarious but forever beautiful
There’s almost no way not to lean in, not to be drawn in toward the flower buds, changing, on this tree all tilted, slanted, crooked in the soil, the Earth’s root-hold ever so precarious but forever beautiful