The trees are talking, waving, and whispering.

As they wave they are echoing similar sounds to the waves of the sea.  The crashing always quiets.

They greet me and I greet them.  We are old friends.  These exact trees have covered and comforted me since I was a girl.

We’ve watched each other grow.

The trees are talking, waving, and whispering.

As they wave they are echoing similar sounds to the waves of the sea. The crashing always quiets.

They greet me and I greet them. We are old friends. These exact trees have covered and comforted me since I was a girl.

We’ve watched each other grow.

They’ve grown strong and stood tall, with roots that run deep, even through harshest winters when the wind has howled and gone straight through them.

I see them year after year, go from green, to glorious, to naked and bare.

Still they stand.

They bend but do not break.

And, in their time, they bare beauty over and over again.

I watch and I listen.

My roots, too, have grown deep in darkest soil.

I bend but do not break.

The wind howls and tries to go right through me.

I whisper back to the wind that I will be like my old lively trees.

We will grow strong and stand tall together.  With a wave and whisper, we will watch each other grow, bend, and not break.