Under the Tree

Here I sit, unassumingly in the grass, my legs sprawled out on both sides. Much goes on around me, but I do not see it, many people talk, but I do not hear them, a Frisbee whizzes by, but I pay no attention. I only think and feel today. I am in my own little word.

I feel the sun. Her wonderful warmth penetrates through my dark jeans. I close my eyes, and silently say thank you. As fall has begun, and winter is rearing around the corner, her rays feel distant, but all the more lovely.

However, much more pressing, is the wind. The shadows of the ground dance with the movement of the leaves, and I know he is here. I sense him. And so he approaches. He advances softly from my left, where we reunite, just as we always have. As old friends, well acquainted, he says nothing, and I acknowledge its okay. I close my eyes once again and this time they remain that way. He draws nearer. I make myself more comfortable, unrolling my spine, dropping back my head, awaiting. He outlines my shape. He knows my arms, running softly against the insides. He finds my “angel kiss.” The fluid movements pass again and again. It tickles, but I do not laugh. He knows my neck, quietly whispering around and around it. And so I let him. It is just me and him now, in my own little world. He knows my hair most of all. We always fight this battle, the battle with my hair, yet this time I choose to let him win. I keep my hands lightly pressed to the soft earth, and decide to let him have his fun. And so I close my eyes, and he plays his favorite game. He says, Don’t worry Christina, as he sways my curls from side to side along my back. He tells me, It’s okay, and jumbles my bangs messily in my eyes and face, you think too much. And so, I relax into his movements, I breathe in his soft scent, and I let him embrace the rhythm of my heartbeats that nobody else knows. My rhythm says, help me I’m broken, his answer, relax. My mind thinks, what do I do, what should I do, what did I do, his answer, relax. My fingers ask, will you hold me, and he quickens his pace, as if I’ve asked too much too quickly. But then he lightens his touch, settling back comfortably at my side, at my back, crossing paths with the bugs earning their frequent flier miles, and flowing gently, tenderly, along my cheek. I stop and let him take control again. I slow my breathing, take back the moment, and let myself fall into his motions. He brushes the hair out of my eyes suddenly, and it is then I feel it. I know I am okay.