Big Cedar Tree

I pressed my palms into it,
its pulse slow,
like it had been here too long
for time to matter.

Roots so large,
they felt like stone steps,
something built to last,
but not for me to climb.

The thunder rolled,
deep in the earth,
moving through the forest,
like the rush of water,
bending everything toward it,
a moment stretched too far.

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It blocked the sun,
except for slivers of light
that cut through,
touching the earth,
but not enough to warm it.

In the distance,
the Pacific,
its restless waves
a quiet reminder
of everything I couldn’t reach.

I didn’t cry.
Not because I didn’t want to,
but because I couldn’t make sense of it.
The rain fell,
the tree stayed.
It stood,
and I —
just a breath,
small,
passing through.

Olympia National Park in Washington