By: Laila Brady

Soft soil
whispers silently around me,
no light reaches me,
no sound
penetrates my dark, tranquil abode.
Above, I know there is sun.
It glows like a beacon
showering the delicate, lacy grass
as I sit waiting, listening,
until I break through the surface.

Growing, stretching,
I reach for the sun,
and bask in a robust burst of noon light,
shattering the blue sky
soaking in its brilliance.
I sigh,
leaves shaking, branches twirling.

Many years I have stood,
through winters, springs,
summers, and falls.
I have weathered storms,
outlasting the birds
and the frogs
that live in the dark, murky waters
of the pond.
I have seen
the passing of day
and the lasting night
many times.

Now I rest.
Laying down my branches,
looking up one more time
and making room for new generations.
Giving to the earth,
even after I fall to the ground
with an echoing crash
sounding through the forest.
Lingering,
even after the sun sets,
and all is dark.
 

Laila Brady is 13 years old; she lives in Hallowell, Maine.  A fun fact about Laila is that she plays the violin.

 

Image by veeterzy at Pexels