10 September – In my hand

In my hand I hold a maybe future tree,
a perhaps full forest of oaken possibility.
All contained in the potential of a tiny acorn,
dappled dreams and towering shade waiting to be born.
This one is alone among thousands of fragmented shards
that the leaping woodland warriors saw fit to discard,
having eaten their fill and scurried on to find more,
reducing rooting prospects on the earthen floor.
I gently drop my green survivor back, and hope it will one day grow
to wave tomorrow’s broad branches over me as I return to walk below.