Tree of Life

  A life tree

If I could I would sculpt this tree, for it symbolises the basics of life for me.

First survival.
Up there in the Lions Head cliffs, that tree, found enough to make a life, in mostly soil- and water-less stone. A life against wind, summer-dry, winter-storm, man-fire.
Then, strong,
it nurtures, shelters as it can.
Then majestically when it can, maybe because of its views, it blossoms.
That tree is me. Foot-burnished roots entwine with my worn-in toes.
That living tree hears the creeping closer chainsaws of the Fynbos-Fundamentalists;
And I hear the distant song ethereal
That tree, even those cliffs and me, we are.

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