Tree Flying

Watching each moment, as high as bone and flesh weight allow, in my low-limbed high-rise chestnut tree, immersed in meadow sea of bird-flight creation, I hope to hear our past folding back to inform empathic feeling. A memory, a smile with bemusing frown. I become benign prey of watcher's warm, yet sometimes too distant stale, intent. Grace absorbs through warm skin sky up and out into warmer guts of flying synergy. These are my claim on graced Elders watching in my direction only when I remember to notice them waving, oscillating, spinning in and through and by me. Informing my inner space and flow, settling my Earthly tenacious rooted infrastructure. Elixir of warm August humid breezes breathing watchers in; breathing echo watched insides reversed out to feed these weaving sultry leaves. If I notice empathic trust then I am gratefully watched. When I am grateful for in-between prehension then I am gracefully watching ecotherapeutic us, together, tree and me, riding just-us under tallest canopy of waving leafy branches, floating Elder trees, flying breeze forever. We are weaving won waving out surfing slowly back toward wind-stormed sun.