In my youth I remember the Chamomile
Days full of joy and blissfulness.
I Reveled in the hope and happiness
That ran rampant through my soul, along with
Aspirations that were as large as the sequoias.
“One day, I will reach the top of the Redwoods!”
I could run forever in the greens and
They would tell me that the plants were
Only more bountiful and colorful as I went further.
As I grew in size and mind, I looked to
The rose and lavender skies as the autumn of
My life neared its end with each passing day.
And yet, I looked forward to the abundance
Of leaves that would sprout from the
Naked branches after winter had passed.
The winters, as it turned out, were
More than I could possibly bear.
They reduced the greenery I loved to emaciated woods.
The diminished plains took much
Time to recover from, yet the Dandelion
Sun still, in all her grace, gave me sparse rays in
These empty forests I thought I knew so well.
I began to think reaching for the top of the
Redwoods was a poin