Light filters through the lush tops, leaving an aura of green to behold, the morning sun accentuating their beauty

I walk amidst centurions, their strong standing bodies telling me of a history before my time, and I wonder, how many beings have stood in this grove and thought of the same beauty as I.

The smell of life and purification, lending such aid to existence,

I touch the bark and thank you kindly for all the air you've given me, most inspiring beings how I wish I could live among you.

Weeping willows.

They are not quite motherly,

They are not carrying the

Connotation

That mothering brings to some

But they are... Nurturing.

They are unlike anything

I've ever experienced.

When I was young I played

On the willow's strong branches

And swung across clearings

On it's many vines.

I could jump and sail quickly

From a tree to a log

And land on my feet.

Of course, there was no one

There to cheer.

I cheered for myself.

And it felt good.

I feel the willow's vines

Reach out to take my hand,

Even now, sometimes.

Swing, it urges me.

Play. Be new and curious again.

I do. I play for hours in the cold

And no one is there to point out

My goosebumps and shivers.

I tell myself to go inside.

I feel good.

Now after growing up,

When exams and relationships

And practicality come into play

I reach out for the willow

That watches through my window.

It tangles my hand amongst vines

And pulls me under it's shade

And swings me around, like

A child's swingset.

And there are a few there to see it.

My first kiss, under the shade.

My best poem, against the trunk.

My sweetest dreams, in it's glow.

My slowest mornings, in it's dew.

There are a few there to see it.

They cheer me on.

I cheer myself.

It's cold, so I go inside.

Through my window,

The willow watches.

But it does not weep,

For that it cannot join me.

It's vines find me

In the lightest, and the darkest.

I feel at peace.

I feel good.

The landscapes I feel are the best for my connection to Earth and the great thereafter, are the peaks of the mountains that may or may not break the clouds, and the splashes of the rivers, created either by swimming or by rafting. I feel like I have the most adventure and the most translation of the great beyond from the feelings derived in these showcases. The mountains are difficult and challenge the legs of man, letting us know that it takes more than them to get to the sky and that wings were something we were happily denied. The water reminds me that it can be anything from hot to cold and all in the same area but it can wash over me and cause the soreness to fade, cause the stress to disappear, and force the realization that everything below me...is unknown.

I feel closest to expansive fields of golden wheat, warming in the sun or blowing in the wind. Fields of blooming sunflowers fill my lungs with beauty. Cultivated country fields speak to me of bountiful America and people who derive pleasure from working with nature.

I've been to the ocean, the desert, and the mountains, but I feel closest to rolling foothills and quiet back roads where the music is the trilling of birds.