I sat beneath the tree of me its sheltering boughs spread wide. Catching the afternoon sunlight on hoary green leaves.
I sat beneath the tree of me it's twisted, gnarled trunk stood strong, Scarred by initials crossed out. It's gooey sap ebbing and flowing to the erratic beat of my own heart
I sat beneath the tree of me thirty two rings, some thick, more lean. A centre core, a maypole of happiness and not
I sat beneath the tree of me cradled by roots dug deep. wispy wind wiggling my hair comfort in all of me
I sit beneath my ageing tree on a blanket far too large. "You're welcome" I'd say to passersby to sit with me a while.
My meditation place, on a green hillock surrounded by more little green hillocks.