My Tree

Whooshing leaves like an autumn cocoon all bunched up together like a cloud.

I scurry to my safe space, hopping rock to rock passing dandelions as I go.

At last, I get there.

He is so old, but oh, so brand-new.

So overgrown, like a lion’s mane.

I pass through, more or less.

I cling to his old branches,

Up to my safe spot.

As I rest, I think.

Why am I this lucky to sit in this tree?

My tree.

I go through the other side.

I stick my head out then carefully move forward,

Watching the sun set in my eyes.

Watching me, as I wonder in my tree.