Suspended, twenty feet in the air
Clinging to this trunk, branches in my hair
I see you, closely, yet not close, enough
Clinging, you see, lets us see more stuff
Lovely Stewartia, you grow so, so ever higher in your quest for living, it seems cruel to trim the pinnacle in your creation, but sometimes one has to do wrong that one may do what's right.
Beset upon all sides you are by a climate that reflects all the memories that enlight the chains of your DNA.
Everything you do mirrors these things.
Enthusiastic lichens and symbiotes, you cling to the branches of my thought--in my own clinging--that I am gifted the understanding that we all truly need each other so much that it really is o.k. to nestle in the succor of the grasp, even when such sharing relieves another of small pieces of their being.
I kept these snippets in respect for their offering, that they join and enhance further offerings, a highlight that someone will someday appreciate.
Thank you, beautiful Stewartia; thank you little airitarians; thank you for this moment that I gain nourishment from such clinging, that my nervousness be eased, and my living be more.
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