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  • Writer's pictureAram Mitchell

the hopeful oak

There is an oak tree in front of my house. Though ‘tree’ gives an impression of fullness, of viability. I’m not sure. The oak stands as high as my shins and has a trunk as big around as a pencil. The oak has about ten leaves, all red and ready to fall. The oak sprouted up amidst the shrubs and wildflowers in front of the window, a gift from a forgetful squirrel perhaps.

I’m curious to see how the oak winters. Is there vitality enough to weather through till spring? How deep and broad-reaching are the hopeful oak’s roots?

I’ve entered a season of reflection. Reaching deep for what insights I might glean from the soil of my experience. Making honest efforts to be at peace with letting go of some varieties of growth, while doubling down in my commitment to survival. Survival: by which I mean my devotion to the wild call, to the practice of going deep for the sake of reaching out.

To my community: Know this, wherever you are today, whatever you’re weathering this season, I’m rooting for you.

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