There sits an oak near my house.
Spectacular, as living things go.
Each branch, in its own right beautiful—
stretching and forking into its own shape and space,
and each as grounded as the next.
In its entirety, impossible to imagine at its beginnings.
To this new branch, growing precariously into the wind,
the anchor of this masterpiece
was never as wind-blown as me.
Each branch has surely pleaded to the wind,
wondered if it was destined to thrive
into something as great as the anchor.
My young branch has winters and storms ahead,
but I know what a beautiful design I am part of.
My creator conceived of something stunning for me.
He knew my storms before my anchor began laying its roots.
Storms cannot batter the legacy that lives in this tree.
We are each a part of our anchor.
For my grandfather