When I’m in the Magnolia tree, I gaze into the bleeding evening sky. I see the sun sinking toward the horizon licking the ground with a tongue of blazing glory and the moon crying for a turn on the throne in the heavens. I sit there, in the crook of my Magnolia tree’s branch, like a child cradled protectively in a proud father’s arms, his eyes shining with tears of love and hope. I hear the clouds creaking like an old dam waiting to end the struggle and release the never-ending buckets of aching cold water. You can scent the enchanting aroma of the blooming diamond in the rough, and when you inhale, tasting the rich flower’s perfume, smiling as the tears fall away with the rain pouring down whisking the worries of the world, down, down into the weeping storm drains. You can pause to place your ear, like correct punctuation in a sentence, just in the right place to make it all make sense, on the trunk of the tree. The sunlight pierces through the clouds to shine on the breeze making it a ribbon of light that dances around you, and with a loving caress, floats away. You breathe in deep like you’re about to sink below cool foaming waves…

and you do.