The soil kept a secret, old and deep, A whispered promise in its sleep. Where moss-clad stump held morning’s grey, A seed of ages woke today.
No gentle sprout, no patient climb, But bursting free from bonds of time. A crack of earth, a groan of wood, A verdant pulse, misunderstood.
The boughs like lightning shot and spun, To weave a home for moon and sun. Great timber arms in arches bent, A living, breathing firmament.
New leaves of sapphire, gold, and jade, A thousand-colored serenade. And in its heart, a soft light grew, To welcome dawn with something new.
So rose the spire of root and grace, To change the memory of the place. The woods stood hushed, the world stood still, To watch the stump obey its will.
Pam Beach ‘Beyond the Blog’
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