My eyes find the tree’s upper limbs,
a symphony of sorts, played against
the dappled March sky as the morning’s
rains float off to the west. For a while
I cannot move or think. I can only stare
and breathe the cold, moist air.
When I return to myself, my mind
is reeling as it surveys all it must
have taken for this tree to be dancing
exactly here, exactly now, and for me
to have traveled my own long road
making all the unlikely choices
that led me to this gift,
exactly here, exactly now, and how
it was exactly what I needed.