Two trees grew in the forest. Sisters. Planted so close together, they grew as one, in the same soil, in the same light. One, slightly older, thicker, stronger. The other, in parallel, always reaching up, always reaching beside. They were beautiful and strong and tall.
They had years of hardship and years of peace, as trees do. They weathered incredible storms and adversity as they grew. They knew they would always get through it, together.
The younger thought the older was stronger, and leading the way. She thought the older was holding her up.
After years, more years than either of them really expected, the larger one became diseased and weak. One day, she fell down. She’s still there, on the forest floor, holding space, giving support to the other tree, and to everything around her, as she always did.
The tree that remained, never expected to be alone, and thought she could not survive without the other. Suddenly, she had to. The wind blew, and the storm was fierce, but her roots were strong. She discovered that she was still alive. The biggest surprise was that she wanted to be. She wanted to grow.
Now, she is the age of the older tree, the age of the falling. And it occurs, for the first time:
Perhaps, all along,
She was just as strong as the other, just as beautiful--
and they had been holding each other up.
As trees do.
All my love, forever, my sister, my other half,
T
