My Pines

The backyard of my childhood home held the old pine trees that had whispered melodies in my ears throughout my sweet infancy. Their wise branches reached out to me with empathetic arms, holding me until I had fallen seamlessly asleep. The wind weaving through their leaves sang me gentle lullabies that were simply necessary if I wanted to have a good night’s dream. The branches would tell me their favorite anecdotes about their young branches that had just grown from their brave mother’s sage wood. I would do anything to go back to the starless nights of my youth when I knew nothing but the kind breeze and those euphonic lullabies.