I just loaded up iPhoto, closed my eyes, then clicked on a picture. This was my random choice. I wonder what I am meant to see in it? The rough hewn bark? The smooth corner post? The twisted vine? The dry grass in the background? The glint of green?
Which do I lean to the most this night? Am I more scratch than soothe? More dying or alive? Sturdy and stocky, a solid source of strength for others? Am I the thing that is trying to get away?
You know the answer of course. We all know the answer to any metaphor match. I am it all. The blistering skin of a tree, the marrow, the sun shining in the west. The thing waiting to die, the thing waiting to cycle through spring again. I am it all. All of it is me.
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