Sagging

I sit under a silver-barked tree, waiting for the rain to start again. The delicate yellow leaves tremble with the left-over weight of last night’s downpour. The tree is wet and tired and waiting for the next storm. I'm wet and tired as well, but I'm sheltered by it’s small spring leaves, resting my head against its lovely trunk. We ache together. 

Forever stretching upward, my little tree hopes to become tall. But linear motion bends and sags into the shape of an umbrella. Kindness is broken pride.

In the rain, 
tired and wet, 
we grow outwards.