The Majestic

The Majestic

Dizzy height stops me in my tracks, forces my gaze to descend to regain my balance. I fear falling, despite standing firm in the soil at this tower’s base.

Taking a breath, I stare up at the cedar’s grace and its topmost foliage, a brush that smooths the blue that hurts the eyes when nothing breaks its vastness.

Winds may wrap themselves around its roots and waist; it can be shaken and its leaves may fall before autumn; its branches may break.

Plunging roots feed and anchor it; fresh greens grow anew from rushes of light. It will not fall this day.

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