I found a piece of my heart....and my soul.

I found a piece of my heart and soul today.
Not anywhere near where I thought it would be.
I had plans, but my heart said--make a detour,
So I did...and ended up on a narrow dirt road.
One I had driven past hundreds of times,
Probably even thousands over the course of a decade.
But today, it beckoned me.
Through a grove of trees lining the roadway--
Like a perfect archway,
Suitable for one of my meccas.

I step out of my car,
There is not a soul to be seen.
Huge woodcarvings litter the lot,
Lumber scrap here and there.
Finally a sign to point me in the right direction.

I walk inside...and open my eyes wide.
Ash, Walnut, Russian Olive, Silver Maple
And so much more.
The grain of the wood echoes in my body
Like the blood running through my veins.
I reach out and run my hand along the nearest piece...
My heart leaps and my soul warms...
This is what home feels like.

I start to wander...through the narrow aisles
Made up only by standing pieces of lumber.
I run my hand along the pieces as I go--
Here are two pieces,
Obviously two souls made for each other.
They are symmetrical, but not perfect mirrors.
They compliment each other perfectly...
I can see the souls dancing here--
And I wish that one were mine,
But I know that these pieces are not meant for me.

I walk along...eventually receiving guidance.
This section here, is where you'll find what you need.
That wood over there is too hard,
It will never do what you want it to do.
This section here...it is the softer wood.
You will find what you need here.

One large room...so many pieces of lumber.
How do I know which I need?
I am left alone in this space,
Still remembering that I am trying to find my place...

I flip through the slices of trees,
The beautiful cross sections of life laid before me.
The pieces are soft to my touch,
Yet so incredibly strong.
How can I find who I am in here?

I turn around...and there it is.
It is like a mirror...a piece of me,
One that was long lost--all but forgotten,
Lost in the depths of the caverns of my own darkness.
But here it is...I run my hand along the piece...
And the echo is a heartbeat, my own.
It is well taller than I am, wider too.
But much shallower, and much harder...
But it is soft, and strong.
It is imperfect, but full of life.

It figures that I would find,
A piece of my heart,
A little bit of my soul,
At the lumber yard...
In a piece of weeping willow.