Take a walk until you find a tree you identify with, then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor for yourself or your life.
All this squirrel chatter about identifying with trees
Reminds me of white hipster wannabe-spiritual bullshit.
Can you decide between the Druid rowan or oak?
Or shall we be “Hindi” today and find a banyan grove to get “enlightened” in?
Have you ever cleared the ground of deadfall?
Have you cleared — that is, torn from the earth — the “undesirable” weeds?
Have you softened the earth?
Used the force of your hands, your arms, your body — with trowel, with plough
Re-directed the waters to saturate and weaken hardened grounds?
And then, carefully,
Have you placed seeds into the soil — and then waited?
Do you really understand what waiting means, when you’ve never waited for something to grow?
And do you understand how completely unnecessary you are yet?
The willow tree you look at like a mirror
Didn’t need you to clear the grounds,
Plant it, water it, watch it.
It unfurled tiny leaves of silver green before your mother even considered she might have children someday.
It is a tree.
And you are self-centric.