Creaking, twisting, swooning and swaying. The wind, often so fleeting a friend, is eager tonight. Unusually hungry for a long caress. Storms like this are rare. Rare even for me. But despite the pecking hail and a sky of liquid lightning, I am happy. My branches dance in the rain and my roots drink in water until they are thick and heavy.

Today I am not of stone. Not hard and cracked and dry.

...