I am untamed. I am stained with earth. I am the wind; graceful and cutting. I am stone jutting out of an otherwise manicured landscape. I am tall, golden birch that changes only for mother season, and bows for no man unless the life is cut from me. My branches are unpredictably and unapologetically reaching for the giver of all life, and not out of trend. I will never walk among you unnoticed because I am too raw, too covered in soil and life. I exist where you spend most of your working days longing to be, and only visit with brevity. I am every twist, turn and gnarl that you won’t allow on a swept floor. I am blood and fury. I am bliss and fortune. Tell me of your desire to learn my ways, but you won’t endure the winter winds. Tell me you love the scent of my bark, yet not enough to keep me near. Tell me you wish for my stillness, yet condemn it in your gossip. Leave me here. Where I am everything that gives you peace from afar. Where I dissolve into the fallen needles and leaves that cover my floor, as you continue further and further away. And with no resentment I will continue to be the life in your every breath.