Reflections on a Tree

I am not like a tree. They are so Other to me. A tree stays in one place its whole life (well, most trees—they certainly don’t like to move). I, on the other hand, have to move a lot, I have no roots and no plot of land to call home. No same sky where I watch the sun set and rise again. No same horizon to frame my view. I move about every three years my whole life. Home is wherever the military says it will be next. And there is always a next. In this way, I have seen many trees throughout my life. My life walks past them like a path and together they are like a forest to me. They are home and will always be home. I am always trying to find home. I want to be like a tree. I want to plant my roots into the earth; I want to find some sacred ground from which my life can spring. I want to touch the sky, to know what it feels like to be in heaven and earth at the same time. I want to be protected from the scary people who live in strange houses in the woods, where little children are locked up and eaten for following bread crumbs. The trees see everything. They are the silent witnesses to all of our journeys.