The Language of Trees (Part III; Poem)

"Where are you!?" I screamed into the dust,
a vortex of noise slamming and hissing its answer,
while I scrabbled on all fours, cutting palm and feet.
I reached for her hand, frantically tried to gain balance,
and sobbed into a sandstorm.

Crawling, I searched for her tent, any tent,
where moments before, within, I had been sheltered, comfortable,
warm and peaceful.
Sand stuck to my eyelashes, covered my teeth in a crunchy film,
and ran in muddy rivers down my cheeks where tears fell.

I was lost in a malevolent maelstrom,
wondering if this was the complicated road she had spoken of,
wondering how I was supposed to do anything
when the marketplace I had seen only moments before
had disappeared behind a curtain of grit.

I continued shuffling,
while the smirking wind kept up its howling,
holding my soothsayer forever out of my grasp,
until from one moment to the next,
I bumped into what felt like someone's leg.

"Yes, yes! I understand now," I cried,
"some of the most difficult roads are those you cannot see,
they leave you blind to joy,
and cast whip-tails and shadows of questions wherever you may walk.
I understand, I understand..." I croaked, half-choked but not letting go.

Within a few heartbeats,
the wind scattered and swept itself away,
while I slowly raised myself to my knees,
painfully pushing off the ground with scratched hands.
My eyes turned slowly skywards, seeking,
and I heard a deep rumble from beneath the tree,
almost as if the Earth were chuckling.
I bowed my head quietly,
stooped my back, and unwillingly,
loosened my arms off the tree and let them fall to my side.