First love under the locust tree. Time moved differently. Monster clouds morphed into swans and faces I haven’t met, behind swaying branches, and sweet smell of blossoms carried in the breeze. Lawn mower hums a few yards away, Mom planting marigolds. I am both tiny and vast. I think these were my first meditations before it had a name. When that tree got struck by lightening and fell on our house, I was less worried about the house than losing the tree. It felt like a library burned down. It taught me how to fall in love with everything, and with nothing.