By Annette Marie Hyder
There is a place where the tide rises with a brisk wind at its back, a tiny island regularly engulfed by the rising waters. The long beach grasses that are kissed by warm sunshine gradually come to be waving beneath the green blue sea.
And there is a single tree on that tiny island. The waves never submerge the tree. I know this from experience for I have watched the teeming sea many times, from its branches, thinking about estuarine crocodiles and drug smugglers on bullet-fast boats and at the same time noticing the laughter of the leaves — even above the slap of surf — when I sat in the arms of my tower tree.
I just want to thank you because, although I have not been to that island in many years, I have felt the rising tide licking hungrily at my feet. It was when I felt you at my back and knew that you would help and shelter me that I realized that you are a true and hardy branch of my beloved tower tree.