I am not intermittent nor ephemeral for I travel on ubiquitous source.
‘Hope springs eternal’ you say?
Aye, this rivulet does meander with hope but ’tis crowded by dangling bystanders.
Low hanging fruit, I say, but there they remain perched and private.
Why so rigid Oak? Don’t you perennially flower?
Is it my canoe that frightens your existence?
You need not be fearful for we are aided by the youthful, the old, the mature and the rejuvenated.
Was it Marc who scared you off? Don’t fret Oak, be strong like you are. Simply soften your stance.
This water ought to breathe life into the stoic giants who oversee hierarchy.
Oh Sequoia! You loom large. I paddle by yet your cones, so keen, remain shackled.
Size matters not. Magnitude is measured by empowerment, by empathy.
Ornamental sure, but your impact is not beatific. Your new ‘husband’ should be wirerarchy.
I am upriver, seeking the source. Buoyed by Archimedes I scan for riverbank hebetude.
Why so dull and lethargic Pine and Birch? Your boredom spills over for all to see.
You consume the source for you presume its omnipresence will be in perpetuity.
Daft! Lurking over this stream is but one half of your purpose. Please read ‘The Giving Tree’.
Oh Arbutus, in the shadow of organizational arbores, it is you who unconditionally gives back.
The Salish, perhaps the true captains of the canoe, were mesmerized by your demeanor.
Without hesitation, without question. You are the provider of medicine, open-minded & tolerant.
Teach those along this tributary to act as you do; selfless, reciprocal, symbiotic.
My canoe, it strengthens. Whispers of community lie downstream.
For the flow of this brook is invisible and it undulates, but it gains speed.
And you, aside from Arbutus, what shall you do?
Will you encourage my canoe to collaborate, to create, to cultivate?
