I germinated just as the birch on the steep bluff over the sea. Below me, large tree trunks crashed to rocks, surf and sand, legions of trees to the ocean’s claw. Roots reaching behind me, stretching for nutrients and a grip, I arc outwardly toward the light, over the water, eyeing the island beyond. I have the best view in the world, here on the ocean stone. Seeded on this particular spot, opened because detected favorable conditions, been here 52 years on the edge, yearning for earth and sky, my entire being. Injured during repeated storms, branches tossed, but I’m still holding tightly to this life. Look down at my friends and that glorious water. I know where I’m going. One day I’m going to swim.