'Til the day that I die
Why is it trees that wear hats?
It's as simple as, there's strength and verticality. Nurturing, shelter, ecosystem. There's communion through the roots and canopy, there's green from white, health from pollution. Silence, yet presence.
The coldness and serenity of the forest walk, the shielding from the wind. There's homes upon homes amidst the branches. Cling onto them to stay away from pests. Climb the hardened hull, it will be there for you.
The colors change with the winds, as it must be, for without change there is nothing but death. Yet the forest persists, through fire and brimstone and chill and thaw. We move from side to side yet never waver. And when you become a target from the know-it-all, you know you've made it. You know the essence is within.
The smell lingers and burns and rejuvenates and refreshes. The water clings, yet it is gently let onto the ground. Mating is elegant, unimposing, the three finds roots eventually.
There is Tao, there is light through the darkness, there is circularity, there is love. Ubiquity, adaptation, stubbornness, elegance.
In the end, there is ideal. There is God in every tree, there is strife and will to strive.
Is there passion? Maybe not, but do you know how to live passionately for eons with no end? Do you know to set the offspring of fire?
Passion is for humans, and some search desperately from it. But if a human lacks it, maybe he can hang the hat. For who wears hats if not us, the people.
And for those of us who just want roots, forever is just standing upright.
Cheers, trees that wear hats.