I didn't choose to be here. In case you haven't heard, trees don't usually get to choose where they grow. It's all seeds and winds and soil and rain. We don't have control. The wind never asks us where we would like to go, if we have any dreams or goals.
For the record, we don't. Not your kind of dreams, anyway. We dream of growing till we're tall. We dream of birds nesting in our branches. We dream of winter and spring, of simple seasons, when the world is wet or white, and birds come and go.
I am glad of the world. Even if I grow no taller.
photo by Cody Cobb.