There is an old tree at the end of my street. At night when everyone else in the neighborhood is sleeping, I tiptoe my way from our house to the vacant lot where she stands waiting, for people like me. Her beauty stops me cold. I am in her spell. To feel her presence is to match one’s vibe to that of the turning earth. I kneel to her Majesty the Queen.
Her branches above me reach for perfection. And they touch it with grace, raining on my back in droplets. Her roots climb into the velvet womb, tendril and snake to the water beneath. Everywhere she touches earth and sky, she touches me. And I tingle. Her electric blood runs through my veins. In spurts and jolts she consumes me.
I undress before her. I cradle her trunk, and savor the softness of cedar skin against my bare chest and belly. Passion infused incites me to drink of her sensual seduction. There is magic between us. She has snaked into my heart like no other before her. Her petals like wings of the angels embrace all sound while I open my soul to her story.
The soles of my feet burn, her acid earth beneath me. I shake and swell and spin. I pound the earth, hands and feet. A circle near her skirt I mumble. With every pass I am louder, closer to her raging flow. Dizzy I run, faster, harder, she trips me. I fall sprawling, laughing, crying.
The moon has been watching us. Our dance, our lovemaking. Catching my breath is easy. For another howl. The sound wakes my friend, a shepherd two doors down. Our Lunar chorus haunts the night.
My clothes are warmer than my skin. She kisses me goodnight and waves me home through summer wind.
Story by Little Drum