sea24

When the trees touched my heart.

My mother had magic in her hands.

As she always said “touch the trees and pat them with love. There is no stranger, and the love should be willing.”

Little did I know then, when I laughed it off

Telling her “they don’t have feelings, ma.”

…

Over the years, I found myself growing fond of them.

When I saw myself smiling like a fool for no reason around them.

Every birthday, led to planting a tree,

And maybe this time I wanted to try it too.

And so I did.

It didn’t grow, instead withered away even when

I had watered it everyday.

But there it was, another one.

Which was just my meaningless effort forced by my mother.

It had bloomed, though I had lost hope.

I thought I suddenly got the same magic my mother had.

It gave me an odd satisfaction whenever a new bud popped up.

I danced around in the garden and felt like a magician.

True.

I was a magician.

The garden felt warm, to my eyes.

It felt like it understood my fears and that I could come there

Anytime the world become too toxic for an empath.

So I started singing to them,

As I had read in the books.

“Touch them with love” my mother had said.

I understood it now.

And they felt it too.

They loved the songs I sang for them.

They loved my loving touch, and

Responded by growing brighter each day.

_

The little happiness, the trees give us, is nothing less than some magic in our lives.

Maybe it isn’t our fault,

Coz we choose to look at things,

With our eyes closed.