Cherry Tree,

I have been noticing you for quite some time now. In my head, I’ve truly been ready to topple you. My ax’s blade itself appears a bit dull.
Now, while I journey all the way back to camp to sharpen it, please have some patience.

There are so many things I want to do with this harvest. After I break the rough bark around your seal, I’ll first garner great admiration of thou art’s succulent insides. I may even take a picture or two with my auto-developing kodak film device to keep your pristine freshness in a static form of brilliance.

I certainly could gather yarn limbs and widdle instruments of discovery for myself. I could use your large fanning leaves to send a distress signal if I still felt uneasy with certain vegetation springing up out of nowhere. I could drill holes and hang pint-sized cups beneath them to gather sweet sap.
With just the allotted energy I pour into you, I hope you decide to grow into a more significant source of life. May herds of deer feed beneath you. May birds flock on ye branches. Fresh rains, may they rejuvenate you on hot days. Soils feed thy roots. Grasshoppers hop. Fruit should drop. Hickory woods tie knots.

I’ll even enjoy the shade you trade for rays of light absorbed and turned into nutrients. Is that all okay with you, my “Queen’s Spade?’ Do you still want to pace your growth to match my flash pan’s spill-rate? I do shake. Understand that I can’t anticipate our collaborations reading like a bliss kiss settled at the bottom corner of a sent envelope enough. It’s all I can think about, our lips touching. Don’t let me let go without hearing your passions to love match mine, please. Thanks!


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