I think I’ll have my coffee outside.

In Berlin. There is a man I know. He says, a good life is when you can take your morning cup of coffee in the sun. Open air. I like that.

I’m starting over, and all that, so why not try something new. Out goes the bad and in comes the good. But there is a high-breasted robin singing in the tree above, and I wonder about the consequence of things. How early must I rise?

Looking out into the yard, I see Maples, Oaks, and Elms. Giant, towering trees with root systems spreading far and deep. Root systems which grow deep into the ground and even though I can’t see them, I like knowing they’re there. The knowledge alone allows for a fleeting sense of safety. Security. I haven’t felt either in a while.

Root architecture is complex, and I can’t help but think of families. My family. I feel so disconnected from them. The vitality of roots, like families, people, myself, are dependent on their relationships. Relationships with their environment and to each other. To other plants and the soil. Mother and father. The elements so to speak. The health of a tree reflects the health of its roots. They both need each other to thrive.

Someone once said that I was taking too long to pull it together. That enough was enough. But nature doesn’t rush itself along and yet, we do. The thing is, time moves at its own rhythm and so do pulses of the heart. Given the right combination of air, water, and soil, even the tiniest seed can be a tree.