A rush of wind
Urges the trees to move forward
The stubborn branches grasp their leaves with resolve
The roots go deep
Settled from long ago
Dare to move the great oak.
"How I long to be a bird,"
Says the lowest branch.
"To fly so freely,
To be swept away, carried by the wind."
The cardinal lights on the branch,
Plucks some seed from its clutch.
One falls to the ground where the tall oak stands.
The rest flit off with the cardinal,
Finding a new home
And new soil.
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