The tree root is gnarled,

twisted, bending and

contorting until it finds

water, the source of life

in the ground.

It will not stop until

it finds it.

Without thinking it continues

to hunt for sustenance,

the hope it will get in return

for effort, not of the mind

but the heart, its DNA.

Underground, the search is

relentless, the pushing,

breaking through hard places

so even the roots

forget how they are made.

That effort to change,

adapt, improve, grow,

is necessary to

survival, but it does not

guarantee the tree will

thrive.

Clouded dawn breaks through,

light radiating branches

stretching toward sun.

I reach and grasp and take

hold of little, muscles

worn from overuse.

turn my face to light,

knowing it can’t help but

shine

—as love does.

And I put aside my pen,

surrender my mind’s efforts

to figure out how to be

better, kinder, purer,

and accept that the sun will

shine and the water will satisfy.

I will eat my fill and let

my heart receive, receive

or I am nothing,

have nothing, bear nothing

in hard ground

beneath the sun

shining, shining on

me.

—jennifer j. camp