Crooked tree

I consider what it means to return to my roots. As I leave one place, I invest more fully in another.  

Outside my office window

There stands a crooked tree,

A pine of some sort.

It holds its needles

Through the winter.

On different days

This tree

Tells me different things.

Yesterday the homeless man

I have come to think of

As Jesus

Sat on the bench

Underneath my crooked tree.

He drew

What he saw.

I did not know he was around

This year.

I guess Jesus

Never leaves.

Today the bench is empty.

My crooked tree reminds me

Of roots

I all too often

Forget.