Tree branches are the roots of the sky





The one silver lining about COVID-19: it’s now acceptable to wander around outside wearing a mask and not die of allergies.



I no longer hate spring.



I found myself beginning to examine and appreciate this cycle of renewal, blossoms unfurling their canvas, new fawn ambling alongside their mothers, birds calling out for their lovers.



In the park I locked eyes with a man pushing a baby stroller, wife and dog in tow—a death I narrowly avoided.



Car tires rumble off in the distance. They sound almost like ocean waves. Am I still sitting silent, waiting to be swept away from here?



Before, I thought I would tumble around this planet forever, my roots never finding the soil to latch onto.



Before, I viewed myself an alien observer, too foreign to participate in the choir of humanity, not without imitating the notes.



Before, I accepted a conviction that I will ultimately end up by myself, swallowed under layers of calcification.



Today, I am sprouting in an unexpected crack in the concrete.



Today, I am seeing the beauty in being human, learning from each other.



Today I am softening, like melting snow. ▲