on growing up

when i was young, my favorite tree was the willow tree. i thought they were beautiful. i loved the way their trunks were gnarled and weathered, how they sometimes leaned to the side, how their branches curved so gracefully and the leaves hung like a cover swaying in the breeze.

we planted one in our backyard. i couldn't wait for it to grow big enough for me to settle under its shade with a book. sadly, we didn't stay long enough in that house for that dream to come true. but i still loved that tree. i loved watching how it moved with the wind.

but then, the summer i was 19, i lived in a spot nestled in the redwood forest. trees that grew so high we wondered how tall they must actually be. trees who grow, not towards the light, but straight up towards the sun. trees whose roots grow intertwined together, connecting the trees and providing a support system. trees that grow stronger as a result of fire.

i spent countless hours transfixed by their strength and beauty, taking as many opportunities as possible to roam the forest. redwood trees are, to me, the epitome of strength. adversity only makes them stronger, they never waver in the direction of their growth, and they grow in such a way to support one another.

they are inspiring.