Treehouse by Valerie Parente

Started from the soil,
these roots, they intertwine,
like veins with a pulse,
a great time to be alive.

Then we branched out,
like antlers on a doe,
smelling the outdoors,
and now it feels like home.

This treehouse, I like to climb,
we go up to a fairytale place,
so whimsical and evergreen,
since the seasons have changed.

The sun stretches its hours,
the moon, it peaks at night,
the day brings experience,
the evening, an owl’s mind.

Half the year I am longing,
for my favorite spot,
so when the weather clears,
you’ll find me on the treetops.

Don’t tell me I’m the one,
if I’m still hibernating,
the real me doesn’t falter,
it speaks with a cadence.

I don’t resent the gray,
it shows me where I’ve been,
I can appreciate the green,
when the gray finally ends.

Well I guess that’s the truth,
where Persephone could be found,
half the year under the earth,
half the year in a treehouse.

– Valerie Parente (6-5-2021)