Despite the urge to limerick you with inappropriate words that rhyme with Enis, I’ll attempt to reach for something more high brow… Enjoy!
I spring up from the heart of a wooded path.
The smell of pine needles breaking down, and the crackle of acrid leaves
Feed my roots
The heat rising from Earth, through dirt and granite.
The brush of seeded grasses,
Passing along their generations to my body as I stride on.
The scratch of bark,
The quiet bending of grass
The warning cry of finch and chickadee,
Telling me in no uncertain terms
That I don’t belong.