To the Winter Tree

Speaking to myself

I stand before the mirror tree.
You are alive,
carefully regulated, precisely held.
You are not stopped.
From autumn, you simply slowed your pace
and came all this way.

You did not abandon your leaves in surrender.
You gathered yourself inward,
like pens neatly placed in a drawer,
and, following the signals of winter,
you stand here—
quietly organised.

You may look cold and solid,
but I know
how much devotion you give
to the adjustments happening within you.
I see it.

Having patiently fulfilled
the full measure of cold,
you will awaken all at once.
I look forward to that moment.
At your own pace,
you are only passing through this season.

Even without growing,
you do not give up on being alive.
You do not abandon yourself.
You allow me to believe
that doing nothing at all
can still be enough.

The rest a winter tree offers
is a time that gently teaches trust.
If the heart is in winter now,
perhaps it is already resting.
It is all right
to do nothing.

You are the one who grants me permission—
not to endure, but to store.
Not to rush,
not to bring things forward,
but to rest.

*these are my own paintings *