We change, turn over covers and apple strudels.
We wake, fresh out the oven.
We grow meeting seasons with new energy.

Be a tree.
We do not know why we are here.

Neither do trees.

Purpose lives, breathes, shakes our cores, spirits, and psyches.

I was blessed with a body, arms that wrap around my community, hands that are warm
and I whistle wind songs, chiming tunes, writing rhythms extending towards you.

I am resilient. I am unique. I am unconventional. I am authentic.

Trees cannot be replicated as replacement carries new weight, manufacturing wisdom
in my palms, reaching up, grounding myself in moss and stone and cement.

No matter where I go, I leave a mark.

One human thumbprint
is worth more
Than a thousand.


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The Gatehouse