My Tree

As I stare at this tree that I have grown to love,
I see not only the gleaming drops left from the rain
on her jewellery painted leaves that make up her shape,
not only at the tremendous anchor of roots who keep her grounded and forever intact,
but at the fragile forms of her spindle like branches,
outstretched as frail and intuitive fingers.
The very core of her being.
For the first time I truly see what she is made of,
and appreciate both that which is seen and more so that which is never seen.