Two Thousand Years

A spotted tree frog, a grey-headed flying fox

A western sword fern, a redwood sorrel, a seedling flying through the air

Lost and longing for the warmth and safety of the pitch-black pinecones.

The eerie cuddle of the forest surrounds it,

“Come here, young child of the forest

This is your destiny. We are your destiny.”

But destiny is a lie, entwining yourself in fake promises,

Dancing with death- And life, it toys with possibilities, personalities, pain

The seedling shares these thoughts, “For you, there are many choices,” 

They say, but in actuality, There   is only   one 

The seedling thinks to itself: Two     thousand      years

Two thousand years of waiting, observing

Two thousand years of debating, learning

Two thousand years of trusting, hurting

Two thousand years of surviving, thriving

Two thousand years of singing, crying, Choose carefully, young one

As the seedling hears its mother speaking softly, it listens.

Listens to the soil, listens to the past, listens to the present, listens to the future.

Through two thousand years, the seedling grows, and starts to know

that it can become the thing it was longing for- A home.