The Work of Being Rooted

What is grounding when the rain is pounding;
A hammer from the sky beating on branches.
The fruit clings to its narrow stem,
As the tree cries with the rain.

How does the tree stay steady when holding hurts—
When wind demands a choice:
To hold tight what’s been nurtured or trust
Beyond itself by letting go.

Its roots sink deeply, slipping further 
Into soft, yielding soil.
An anchor finding rest at last, 
Choosing depth over control.

Not gripping in protest or resisting sway,
It lays down weight it cannot hold.
The trunk bends without snapping,
Still rooted in what cannot be seen.

Above, the branches argue with the air,
As fruit trembles with small, ripe fears.
Below, the roots widen their reach
Searching for the safe grasp of another root.

They cross and braid underground,
Sharing water and strain.
They bear one another’s burdens—
Fulfilling what they were made for.

With each storm, the roots learn 
The shape of the ground, help found below.
They remain steadfast when shaken,
Holding others because they are held.

And when the fruit finally falls, descent is being sent—
The quiet courage of letting go.
When fullness has nowhere else to go, the overflow
Becomes an abundance of wisdom passed on. 

The soil receives the fruit; the branch doesn’t splinter.
The tree doesn’t chase. It remains.
Trusting the rhythm of the seasons,
The fruit multiplies, and the tree remains.

Planted by streams of water,
Which yields its fruit in season
And whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever it does prospers.

Roots grow again from fallen fruit—
On the soil, rain keeps pounding.
The tree fights for grounding, trusting its Maker—
This is the work of being rooted.