"Some say the world will end in fire." Robert Frost's line echoes in my head, quickening my heartbeat and breaths, as if I should just give up and succumb to the soils surrounding us.
This is how I know what you will do, because you are like me. We are like one, here in the woods — a part of it, and of each other forever over again.
If you could just sit here with me, (I tell myself),
Match the beat of the sap flowing up our bark, match the breath to the gentle breeze,
that would be a start. If you could watch this fern unfurl, this ghost flower decay, this earth shift and grumble beneath us. If you could open your eyes to the giant that is us, that lives as us.
If only you could see what is worth fighting for.
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