Tumbleweed and Redwood

Shadows cast towards the exit
anticipating your desire.
But you’re actually happy in this room
as you’re happy in your skin.
You know you can’t merely
Blow the sand out of an open wound.

Sure enough, soon
itchy nostrils and impatient feet
beg permission to engage their gears
and reconnect with your
wandering shadow,
buried in something new.

Happiness is not a synonym of contentment;
you cannot brush the stain
of want from your clothes
and expect to be able to leave
the curtains open but keep the window closed.

Ambition is not the opposite of contentment;
to sink your roots deep is not
to give up the potential of growing towards the sky,
tumbleweed wishes it could fly
just to touch the lowest branch of the tallest tree.

Written Jan 2010


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