AT THE WHIFF OF THE LIVING WATER

You can cut the tree in its prime, leaving the stump to dry away.
You can strip it of all its leaves, its cover when the winds roar.
Hack away the branches still remain and cart away for the bonfire.
Lay its fruits to waste, rotting away in putrid silence.
The tree is laid bare, All can lay testament to its final desolation.
A mere stump.
Gnarled, cracked, broken and twisted.
Humps for branches, fit for a weeds support.
Just below the surface, only one anchor, invisible, unnoticed to the casual observer.
The roots have been left intact.
At the whiff of water,
At touch of THE WATER,
Life springs back into the tree.
Sprouting from the humps that were left for branches.
Healing the brokenness from inside out.
The gnarled barks, supple with the living water.
The missing branches growing all the way back, stronger and younger.
In its due season, it flowers, thick and full.
Flourishes day and night.
At the master’s feet, at the right time, it yields its fruits.
Just at the whiff of the Living water.