Oak

If I ever chose to permanently mark this, my fleshly temple, my most personal canvas, with a permanent piece of art, it would have to be relevant and important for all my time from the Great Now until the Great Next.  But how do I squeeze, condense my life, being dreams and hopes; all the lessons I have learned and am learning and have yet to learn; all 138 pounds of substance and essence into a pocket sized picture frame?  Am I so simply captured?  This is no Polaroid Soul.

No, I am complex, shifting, moving, never settling, never stagnant.  Bending but not breaking, my many branches withstand the stormy winds of change.  Moreso, delight!  Riding the great gusts with greatest gusto--hear me shriek and laugh and moan and call in harmony with that which moves me.  Free to dance on curling currents without fear or hesitation only because my roots run deep.  Only because my trunk, my core, is steady and immovable--grounded in the only way that matters.  

My rings are not many, but I bear fruit.

I am not the giant of the woods, but I grow a little every day.

I am not always strong, but I am supple.

I am the tree you lose the forest for.