Book of Eucalypt

A stillness creeps through the air as you
Fall from the Blasted Oak –
The Tower falls –  
You feel it in your bones first as
a quiet truth whispers, it’s time.

Time to stop clinging to wilted leaves,
to thank them for their shade,
and let them fall.
They protected you once –  
your children dancing along their limbs
trying to hold tight through the storms –
but now they block the light.
A new roof rises above you,
promising of a future to behold.

Growth never asks permission.
It cracks the shell, splits the root,
pushing through the dark soil
because it must.
And though it hurts –
the stretching, the breaking,
the screaming from within as you
burn down the walls around you –
it’s the only way to bloom.

The garden aches for pruning and love –
the Seven of Bows –
for the patient hands that dare to cut
so that life can begin again.
Grounding in the rich soil
you wash your hands in what is left behind,
releasing the weight of old fears like
water washing down the drain.
You whisper gratitude to every bruise,
every thorn that teaches you
where not to reach too quickly.

You lift your face to the sun.
The garden eagerly awaiting
the growth of change,
petals folding open like promises.
Change smells like new earth,
like roses that don’t care
how many winters have come before.

And now, you hold the key
to the breath of life –
the Ace of Arrows –
walls that will learn you laughter
as you watch the turning seasons.
Roots can finally rest in
soil that will come to know your name.
The garden embraces your determination,
reborn together through patience and care,
unlearning the hunger of survival
and remembering what it means
to feel balance again.