Poetry for the soul

Arbutus

Perched atop a smooth cool rock, I listen to the gentle flow of the ocean waves.
Leaning back into the warm soft bark of an arbutus, I close my eyes and embrace my surroundings.
I hear the gentle rustle of the leaves above me, a distant cry of a gull that swoops above the surface of the water, and a soft thump of my heartbeat.
The salt tingles at my nose, as I breathe in the sunshine, the smell of summer envelopes my senses.
I look up at the peeling bark, and trace my finger over the carvings in the branch.
Names and hearts are carefully etched into its surface, the older ones have softened, like the memory of the carver, and the love of the couple.
The newer ones are bright and sharp, the green bark peeking out from the browned edges.
I peel off some bark, carefully tearing it apart in my hand, and letting it drift away in the breeze.
The bark flutters down to the gnarled roots of the tree, which desperately, but sturdily hold fast in the rocky soil. Defying gravity, it hangs onto the cliff side, perilously dipping toward the waves.
One branch of the tree is a light silvery grey, with long black cracks running it's surface.
The dead wood creaks, buffeted by the wind, its lifeless form cocooned by the trunk, with thick dead bark peeling off in chunks.
Even with that branch, it doesn't take away from the beauty of the tree, it almost adds a sort of melancholic allure to it.
Whenever I think of love, I think of an arbutus.
A tree so magnificent at being able to defy the odds, and what we perceive as normal.
A tree with a thousand stories, and countless memories.
In life, and in love we sometimes go through phases, and parts of us will fade, but like a tree our roots run deep, and will always ground us.