A Respectable Tree

The tree of my ritual was old and tall, though not a true giant; the next one may be, but needn't. It possessed consequence in its bough and the places around it, which may have been occupied for one of any number of reasons. It was a fine tree, and my ritual was, I hoped, appropriately reverent. Respectful, yet uneasily godless, my incantations whispered with the light and gravity of the shade. Hopeful, yet sorrowfully faithless, my supplications revolved patiently and drifted irreversibly into the air, seeped deep beyond the bark, sank into the soil and the root. Godless as I was, I would not pass up a fancy of random thought; if it was a fancy of still unknown truth, it would need nurture, dutifully I would nurture. Only such a tree could be worthy of such faithless supplication. 18th October 2018