The Trefoil Muse

She drifted on an endless tide.  Emotions lapped at her sides like waves.  Some passed her by believing her to be redundant.  Others saw her value and tried to bring her aboard.  She was very desirable, a streamline, timeless vision.  Her knotted, gnarly appearance only added to her mystic. Along with her intrigue, she held little bark. Truly, a quality piece, one that they could work with but her weight was camouflaged within her well hewn exterior and to their surprise, she was heavy.

They pulled, tugged, heaved and attempted to rope her in to no avail.

She became concerned about their strength as they struggled with her unseen weight. The weight of wisdom cannot be seen, only sensed. She felt them wavering.  It was doubtful that her ship had come in.  She knew that although they saw her value, they could not muster the power to bring her aboard. Now, they were entering into dangerous waters. A swiftly flowing current had suddenly enveloped her and was pulling her awry. Their hold on her was slipping.  Eventually, they released her and she was adrift once more.

She moved with the flow.

In the past, she had come across others like herself but they were drifters without roots.  Her roots were alive; she just needed a place to plant them. Then, there were those who’d become so water-logged on the emotional tides that they sunk to the bottom – either they’d rot there or become too petrified to move.  Still others hit turbulent water and were thrown about until they landed stranded on harsh lands devoid of nourishment; here they became dehydrated and died.  She’d tangled with some of the drifters she’d collided with, forced for a time to follow them along.  She’d learned quickly that they needed to detour on more volatile tides and removed herself from their mass exodus. She chose the gentler routes content to float alone uninhibited by others – she found this was the best way.

She sought out different currents, each exit taking her on a new adventure until finally, she beached on a shore where she felt comfortable. She emerged from her watery domain excited to traverse the rocky shores of this land.

They said this beach was ‘haunted,’ she smiled as she observed the abandoned shoreline.  She noted its perfection and felt its warmth as she stood on shaky legs. Excess water drained from her being – one can only soak up so much knowledge before they drown in it – even a sponge has limits and needs to be wrung out from time to time.   She turned to face the sun and welcomed the autumn wind on her face.  This is where she belonged.  She would flourish here. Her roots liked this ground.

She stretched her branch like arms to the sky and set out to explore the boundaries of her new home.

Others hadn’t successfully emerged here she noticed as she skirted their remnants.  Skeletal remains littered the beach like driftwood clawing at the edge of humanity. Threads of dry information clung to deadened branches. These off shoots probably a series of monotone answers to questions, posed by keeners which over-whelmed any knot-heads failing to absorb it. Gobs of stagnant propaganda hung airborne clinging any who drifted off. She took a good look at the web of information, realizing it was something she’d already absorbed.  She would prosper here.

She would not perish here like those before her. The land welcomed her.  She was a tree of life.

Grateful to dance ashore at the water’s edge, she swayed to the rhythm of the wind and planted her roots. She was home.