Uprooted

by Jill Euclide

Image credit: Howard Walsh on Unsplash

Upended in yesterday’s storm,

Root systems ripped from their stronghold,

The white beech lies on the creek’s edge.

What is not crushed under itself in the fall

Seems almost alive, almost

As if

It could nurture a bird’s nest in its arms or

Invite a squirrel to hide in its branches.

It feels the sadness in its limbs,

The loss.

The stark reality that this is the end,

A slow death brought on by

An inability to re-root in muddy banks,

The Knowing—

Erosion will finish what

The storm began.

But—

Where are the tears?

***

Jill Euclide

As a wife and mother of five, Jill Euclide juggles family life while nurturing aspiring writers as a high school English teacher. An avid runner and passionate gardener, Jill finds joy in nurturing plants, words, and souls. Recently, she has rekindled her love for writing, proudly showcasing her work in various publications. With each word, she hopes to sow seeds of inspiration and empathy for fellow sojourners on the journey.