To take a lifetime to write it, even when it appears quickly and suddenly on the page.
To discover how deep are its roots, and how bright its leaves.
To see the space around it, the light behind it, and the shadows it casts.
To listen to it breathe.
To marvel at its strength, in a savage and brutal age.
To die for it, if that’s what it takes.
To read through the fire, and write from the grave.
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