On the Wind

I went out for lunch. Went out as far as the parking lot and sat in my car with the seat tucked back, my eyes closed. Listening to the silence, to the classical music playing on the radio station, to the sound of the wind pushing its way past everything in its rush to get someplace else. To the sound of my thoughts racing.

And I am trying to say something I don't know how to say. Trying to explain this feeling I had as I sat there in my car staring up at the birch trees overhead, their barren branches bending to please the wind.

I am like this tree, I thought. I am like this tree in every season of its life. I am like this tree with roots that keep me standing strong. With scars dug deep into my skin. I am like this tree with empty branches void of leaves. But I can see the promise of tender buds, dormant now but waiting to wake.

I am like this tree. Withstanding the cold. Keeping at bay these winds. I can feel the summer beneath this frozen ground. I can feel my leaves like phanton limbs.