When he sat down, against that dead tree, all he could do was put his head back for support. In resignation, in exhaustion, in just plain old what else was there to do. Didn’t really matter how that moment was defined. The tree, even in it’s decline, was strong enough to bear his weight. And give him a modicum of reprieve. Comfort. And he appreciated it. It’s what he needed for just that briefest moment.
For five, maybe six minutes, he sat very still.
With his head supported and pillowed by that dead tree.
Without controlling anything his thoughts ran completely free and wild. He didn’t fight them or try to direct them. They ran, dashed, tripped, and some departed, leaving room for new thoughts, new ideas, even new worries.
With a deep breath, and a force he did not want to exert, he lifted his head from that rest.
It wasn’t long enough, those minutes, but it was a start.
He felt the start of a sense of well being as he pushed up. Even though he didn’t know to call it that. Standing, he turned and looked at the dead tree, putting his palm on it before he walked past. Feeling the bark. Unconsciously he patted it. As if patting a friend on the back.
As uneventful as these minutes appeared, they were very much a turning point, and pivoting would start with his first step away. This, he knew.
He knew he would think of this tree again.
When he finds himself wondering, again, just what else is there to do.
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