I may not be
The sort of person who can
Soar through the clouds
As if my intellect has wings
I’ve told you this
So many times
You might tire of hearing it
You might tire of hearing how
The soil of the redwoods sustains me
And gives me a knowledge
Wholly unlike your own
But I am
The sort of person who
Can scramble up the redwood trees
And as long as I remain safe in their branches
Connected to the earth through their trunks
And as long as I remain connected to water
Through the mist they drink in through their leaves
Then I can take in the air, the heights
I can think far and wide
I can put words together
I can do all those airbound intellectual things
Without the benefit of wings
As long as I stay connected
To the mist and the soil
So don’t write me off as saying
There’s no place in my life
To be up in the air
I just get there differently than you do
And my mind works differently
Because of its constant connection
To the ground and the mist
Without which I become hopelessly disoriented
Because my air is not your air
And going where you go…
It feels too much like endless falling
Tumbling without anything to anchor me
— I’ll stick to the trees, thank you.
