Acorn to Oak

and.now I am an oak tree in centralPark.
my roots are pushing.pushing into spring soil.
Now,you may ask me:
'to what purpose do you grow?'

halted, i am pondering the question.
i have grown without remorse
and budded and sprouted and rooted and wilted
for nineteen years over.

never have i asked the Question: "Why?"

'i suppose,' beginning steadily,
'that I must live to grow.'
'that the sun coaxes only me from slumber.'
'that there is space to become larger, so larger I will.become.'

'For God himself has ringed me in an azure sky
(like some stately king),
and all remaining for me to do
is grow.and.grow.and.grow.'

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My spring break is coming to a close so very quickly. At this point, I had hoped that all snow would be completely eradicated. I am so very ready for spring and robins and pastel colors (actually, ew) and bunnies and daffodils and daisies. I am ready to wake up from Black&WhiteMinneapolis with its black snow in the gutter like homeless men and silt on the sidwalks.

Technicolor Explosion of grass so green it looks fake and squirrels everywhere and bright-colored-rainboots and hooded sweatshirts and walking outside and spring.Gel.Gems and boy bands in my iPod on the way to class!