Pink Moon Easter
I’ve come home again to my secret place
My forest crying tree,
The years I released my tears on her sturdy bark shoulders
In those old days with a young family at home
I could jog in this forest and actually feel my heart,
By the second mile in, I was also deep in the woods.
I barely made it stumbling to that tree,
I could lean in on that trusty trunk for dear life,
My knees buckling and letting my tears go
But, quietly so as not to alarm the neighbors.
Nobody heard those muffled sorrows but the crying tree and me
She always held me as long as I could not stand on my own
There was a hillock of duff at her root so soft on my knees.
I am now very grateful for all of life’s gifts these many years later
My secret place is now grown round and full under a pink moon.