Tree, give up your secret. How can you be so satisfied? Why don’t you need to change location, look for a better job, find prettier scenery, or even want to get away from people?
Grass, you don’t care where you turn up. You appear running wild in the oat field, out of a crack in a city street. You are the first word in the vocabulary of the earth. How is it that you are able to grow so near the lake without falling in? How can you be so alert for the early frost, bend in the slightest breeze, and yet be so hard to break that you are still there, quiet, green, among the ruins of others?
Weed, it is you with your bad reputation that I love the most. Teach me not to care what anyone has to say about me. Help me to be in the world for no purpose at all except for the joy of sunlight and rain. Keep me close to the edge where every wild thing begins.
~ by Tom Hennen