I am a Tree

And old. Fierce wind whips  ‘round me, loosens and scatters the dried leaves of weary, winter fears and leaves me almost naked.   Everyone, anyone can see me!   No full-grown leaves of modesty to cover my blemishes, the turn of my limbs, my knobby wrists and elbows. My begging arms, my ancient, grounded roots apparent.   I tremble, springing with the rush of air. Shake with the dread of being judged  too big. Cut down. Shake and shake until I know I want to grow again.   My new leaves flail, lit with an urgency to reach and move, show off, hang on, roll with the punching gusts. I begin to enjoy this ride, this freedom, and my leaves’ determined grip, their laughter as they clap green hands together....