day 30

blessed is she whose roots yearn for the
warm, silty soil of her tropical homeland,
whose simple stem is laid bare in the
presence of Redwood giants, whose
leaves breathe in confusing chants of foreign
sighs, whose fruit is together curious and
incoherent to the impressive shapes that wax and
wane; whilst through these unpredictable billows
a steadfast Voice
whispers
Living Words upon her quivering petals
and prunes them to a quiet bloom —
"Blessed is she who remembers I am there."