Born high in the branches
A small acorn, a nut, I’m not,
Who bulks herself with the energy of the Sun
and the water, precious fluid,
bringing nurture, a mother’s love.
Grow, Grow, Grow.
An ushering of encouragement from the wind.
Morning and night rise and fall,
plump with life I release my hold.
Sailing down, down, down.
I hit the ground to I plant myself with the rain
and I kiss the Earth hello.
Taking root in the gentle hum of fertile soil
I fall sleep to the dirt’s lullaby
and awake to find new life
Pushing the dust off my leaves
I reach reach reach
every day for the sun,
our star up above.
Yawn and stretch
it feels good to be alive.
A small acorn with a big future deep inside.
— Julie Whatmough
Anchorage
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