O
Wouldnt it be lovely to be like a tree, strong and steadfast, rooted in place; with fine feathery fingers that gently whisper and wave in the wind?
The sun would be my food, a cosmic light fit for the table of a king. I would drink the sweet rain of the heavens with neither a worry nor want.
A tree is a thoughtful creature. It does not want to move; it simply wants to stand and ponder, feeling the breeze in its arms and observing the world from afar.