Nurturing the forest floor, leaving me with this gift,
This piece of hardened wood,
With traces of legends and resemblance.
I stare into this piece of healed branch,
That has lost its self-
A knot that shares its parent’s history
Before broken off— had grown many faces
Now left as a petrified knot generations ago;
Embossed with stories of a future prince,
From twig— many growing seasons before.
(Many times, I have spent turning, staring, reading this tree knot I kicked up, on one of my walks through the Open Gate Farm, do give it some attention. Oh, and the other side is just as imaginatively interesting. (Photo by: R.K. Garon))