Branches beneath our feet

She cries on the porch steps, 

A full grown child gripping her knees.

She feels small like a newborn baby,

Abandoned and given away.


Darkness lingers.

To open her eyes seems scary. 

She doesn’t know what lies ahead.

Standing outside the forest, 

She can’t go through alone.


Whispers of deceit encompass her pretty mind.

They tell her to stay a little longer.

There is no light in there. 

You are safe here.


She wants to go home,

But distractions keep holding her back.

The answers remain clear,

While she remains lost.


False identities taunt her,

She hates being alone.

The masks she wears are not hers, 

She can’t trust herself.


She tries out another identity.

And another. 

Another.

Her eyes are still closed.

She thought she entered the forest, but is still in the field. 

Weeping for a way out,

The clouds clutter.

She thought she saw the sun.


He brushes her hair back softly and tells her not to be afraid.

Child, I’m right here.

Be gentle with yourself.

Open your eyes darling. 


All of those treesthey are an abundance of blessings.

My father is eager to give them to you.

I know it’s hard to see the light now,

But I will be there with you. 


Your fears? They are twigs.

Branches beneath our feet. 

There is no place for you in this field. 

This is freedom without roots. 

Come. 


She opens her eyes.

The path to the forest is covered in riches of lifetrue life.

She can see clearly.

No longer is it a mystery. 


The invitation is hers.

It is always there.

It always has been.

But she chooses now. 


She takes her first step into the forest.

Before she knows it she is skipping.

Then running. 

Sprinting to her Father.


The sound of sticks snapping and branches breaking.

They echo through the forest.

But even louder is the voice calling her home. 

My daughter, with you I am well pleased. 

Come, come. Let us celebrate. 

 

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