Branches Above

"The branches caught her hair, the storm pulled her on, yet still she pressed toward the light ahead."

The branches reach where blossoms once had grown,

their silver fingers straining toward the sky.

Though storms may shake, they never stand alone,

but weave their strength in songs the roots supply.

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They catch the wind, they gather frost and flame,

yet still they bear the burden of the light.

Each leaf a memory, each scar a name,

each shadow lifted upward into sight.

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The orchard bends, yet never breaks its vow,

its arms outstretched through tempest, snow, and rain.

The branches whisper: become what you are now,

and reach beyond the weight of rooted pain.

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For what is forward but the gift they give—

to rise, to seek, to strive, and still to live.