Stronghold

I am a tree in winter.

I have lost the leaves that touched the sun and shrouded me in colour when the days grew short,

I stand alone atop a tall hill and I am howling,

as a gale pushes and pulls so I can feel it in my roots and in my bark.

My bark like my skin,

cracking and baring all.

To think that I grew from a seed planted in a wind like this,

overlooking a house of three,

who loved my colours and my silhouette at dusk-

I cannot uproot myself from my stronghold

as I cannot stop the seasons from changing me-

and a storm is coming,

I can almost taste it.

But I have not eaten in days.