“Go to the Tree”

As I lay on the pillow with the morning light, these were the words  which came.

“What tree?”

There was no need for my brain to answer.  My heart knew.  There is a deciduous tree on a roundabout in south Ghent.  Six streets radiate.  I had walked there once and today was the time to return.

Over the past few months there has been a surging outward from the centre … ever stronger and furious.  I am being exploded out into the world – everywhere.

And so the streets call.  I had to answer.

I know this voice.  It is to be trusted.  It’s quiet and smiling (unlike the other voice!)  The quiet one is leading me to parts unknown, into the mist where I can only grope.

Approaching … It matters not that my new friend is not yet in its full glory.  It still shines.  And it asks me to come close.

I yearn to sit in a pub nearby, to just look into what the tree is.  There are two – both closed in the early afternoon.  So I sit on a low wall and watch life whirl around.

Cats swoop past the dear tree, with their drivers concentrating on the curve, not feeling the grace of a middle point flooding out into the arteries of life.

But I see.




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