Tree without company of its kind, did you cloister yourself on purpose or are your branches reaching with intent for those leaves who left you a one.
Shade provided cools no soul. Desire for purpose exists, but is found as much as that which happens for history’s other fruitless covering: zendaletto.
Airscrews hum from sky’s clouds, resisting turbulence and pushes off course. Can these roots resist toppling forces without props from supportive neighbors?
First dibs on a quenching drink followed by lake’s new breeze sends best seeds to rewild the other shore. Fate may be rooted, but impact on the surrounding scene cannot be muted. : )