And this large branch was blown down in the storm
Its wound
bore no pain just openness
From the middle jutted out virgin wood
I tried to
break some off for it was so beautiful
It would not budge
In the process a
small remnant shattered off and fell into my hand
I held a small piece of its
bark
its outside was bumpy and cold
Yet the inside was seasoned wood,
a ruddy
orange almost red, a blood orange.
It was quite jagged yet
smooth in places not expected
It said quite clearly “Take me home”
and so I listened
and so I
did.
3-2-14
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