Kate Baeurle
The process & the story becoming~
“I recently saw a journal prompt explaining how your childhood treehouse, backyard swing, or yard has seen every phase of you into adulthood. It made me think about my own little corner of the world in my parents' backyard that provided me with such a sense of comfort when I was a little girl. I began to think about how our meetings are few and far between these days, but that I am lucky to have a place to call home. I began to think about the tree's perspective and titled it ‘Thanks for Waiting.’”
“To me ‘living in awe’ means feeling, doing, and giving with gratitude. It means finding the awe in others, in yourself, in the mundane, and new experiences of life that make you human.”
Thanks for Waiting
~From the perspective of your childhood treehouse~
A treehouse stands tall, a treehouse I am.
I extend my emerald arms, reaching as high as I can.
A freehouse, a perfect you-and-me house, your protector I will always be house.
Laughter, curiosity, and play once echoed from my roots each day.
Imagination spilled from my seams, wonder seeped through my beams.
We danced with the wind, one with the leaves–
a sense of wonder amongst the breeze.
Seasons change—we are both older now.
Time has passed so quickly, I’m puzzled as to how.
Not once as strong, but here I stand.
I sway in the breeze, planted wearily beneath the land.
My body is tired – I’ve weathered every storm.
Waiting for you has become my norm.
A treehouse, a freehouse, a perfect you-and-me house
your protector I will always be house.
Less whispers into the night of girlhood, our corner of the earth more still.
Occasional phone calls drifting in from afar is what is left to fill.
A treehouse and your heart’s first keep, I guard our memories valiantly while you sleep.
I wonder where in the world you are now–
whose trunk you sit beneath if not mine.
The longer we are apart, the more I feel like a shrine.
Your parents move slower, their hair a bit greyer –
but we think of you often.
It rains, then snows –it's now summer and I soften.
We meet again – your hair more kept, more tamed.
I’d recognize you anywhere; you’ve awakened an old friend, a familiar flame.
I notice your blonde braid – just a bit shorter now and wrinkles around your eyes.
My roots weathered, you sit with a familiar sigh.
We catch up in silence, you answer my questions.
Where have you been? Are you happy?
Do we still like peaches and the color pink?
I’ll tell the fireflies you’re home.
There’s much to talk about - much more than you think.
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