Does the Eucalyptus tree wonder about the butterflies while they migrate at different shores? From the beat of it’s vibrant, seemingly fragile wings, does the butterfly send tiny messages whispered on the wind? Is this why branches sway like swooning lovers listening to distant stories of unfolding flowers? I am not your Eucalyptus tree. I do not hear your song on the wind. I am not rooted to this spot, to wait for your arrival. If you do not answer my call, do not expect refuge on my branch. I am a flier too…flying on…to dance in cool waters, to tango with seaweed, batting my eyes at lilac flowers and spreading my legs….to ride horses of course. It was a swell ride- we went on, many sunsets ago. I’ve folded it up, and tucked it beneath my ear, it’s final resting place. Do not tug at it, that is where it belongs, in the sweet nectar of history…where I can sip from it, but not a full meal.