A long time ago, I walked down this path and felt like an ignoramus for not knowing your name. For not knowing whether or not you’d flower, whether your leaves would be broad or small.
I am back here now, still ignorant, but not wanting to know anymore.
For what I know ceases to amaze me.
I close my eyes and run my hands on your bark, gnarled yet gentle.
I touch your leaves hanging low, dewdrops still glistening on them like jewels that stealthily descended in the night.
I need no names to feel you, I need no words to breathe, to be, to simply be with you, to love you.
I must go now. I know where the path leads, but let me pretend I have forgotten, so I can be filled with the thrill of discovery.
Let me come back here every morning, without anticipation, so the sight of you will surprise and delight me, over and over again.