This is our place. You sit with your back to the tree I love, and I think:
you planted that tree
The seasons turn, right outside the window of our place.
Before I loved that tree, I wondered of it: how do you change, so effortlessly, and with grace?
Then, I came to love that tree: I love that tree and that tree loves me.
You gave a gift the day you planted that tree by our place. You didn’t know then, don’t know now:
you planted that tree, and I love that tree and that tree loves me
And right here, right where that tree loves – love simmers here, too.
TheWisdomYears.org 