It’s still dark outside while writing this, but that’s okay. In about 30 minutes, the morning light will come streaming though these windows. One of the few things we know about a new day is the sun will rise and set.

I realized something interesting about my studio space. There are three plants in the studio, but each one is a tree. You’ve met Rumi, the Asian Council tree in this post here, but there’s also a baby Rumi. Baby Rumi occurred after I accidently broke one of Rumi’s stems and couldn’t bring myself to discard it, so I propagated the stem. After planting it in some good dirt it’s growing into it’s own tree and offers a new leaf when ready.

There’s a poem about trees that hung on my wall of inspiration for a year, but I took it down and placed it in a box, knowing it would be shared with you.

Some trees are always green,
lush with leaves, abundant and healthy. 
That is how they are made.
That is what they are.
They thrive despite the season.
It is okay if you are not this tree.
Not all trees are always green.
Older trees in some seasons are leafless,
bare, seemingly structured of nothing
but sticks and brittle hope, 
mistaken for dead, they stand proud. 

Have you ever met this tree?
Have you ever been this tree?

It's okay to shed your leaves,
to seem lifeless to those who know
no better than to believe just what they see. 
They know not your resilience, your strength,
nor the droughts you overcame.
They know not the way you waver
amidst strong winds yet stand still, 
big and bold,
nothing to hide behind.
They know not the courage it takes
to bravely battle on each day.
Focus not on the leaves, but on the tree.
The tree still stands. 


From the book, "It'll be okay, and you will be too", Dr. Jeremy Goldberg

I removed the poem because I didn’t need a reminder of trees anymore, but maybe someone else does. One year later, the same room that held the poem, is filled with trees.