I am out of breath when I finally reach her. She seems unbothered by my lateness; she waves lazily to greet me. I press my forehead against her rough skin and sigh.

The Tree says: You’re running from something.

I say: What?

The Tree says: That’s why you’re out of breath, because you’re running from something.

I roll my eyes at her. 

I say: You think everyone’s running from something. 

The Tree says: Because everyone is running from something. Or running toward something. Usually the former. 

I snort and sit down on the still-damp dirt at her feet. It’s been raining on and off for three days and I haven’t been able to see her as often as usual. I can feel the back of my pants getting wet from the ground. I lean back against her and tip my head up toward the gray sky.

I say: You can’t run. You have no choice. That doesn’t mean everyone else is always running.

The Tree says: If you stood still long enough, your problems would catch up to you.

I say: Who would want their problems to catch up to them?

The Tree says: People who want to get things over with quickly. You like the drama, that’s why you draw these things out as long as you can.

I say: You think you know everything.

The Tree says: Not everything. I know everything about you, though.

One thing about her: she makes me laugh. She’s been telling me she knows me better than anyone from the moment I met her. I don’t tell her she’s right. 

The Tree says: So what are you running from?

I say: Do we have to talk about it?

She sways briefly in a cool breeze that makes me shiver. Winter has been dragging its feet on its way out the door, and I didn’t bring a jacket. 

The Tree says: Are you all right?

I shrug.

The Tree says: You’ll feel better if you talk about it.

She sways again as the breeze picks up into a wind. I brace myself against the cold, and hope she can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes.

The Tree says: We can talk about it tomorrow, if you want. The sun will be out.

I sniffle, stand up, and brush the dirt from my pants. I face her again.

I say: You don’t know that.

She sighs.

The Tree says: Of course I know.

The Tree says: I wish I could protect you all the time.

The Tree says: I wish you didn’t have to run from anything.

The Tree says: I love you.

I wrap my arms around her middle. Her skin scratches my cheek, but she smells like the earth. I feel her inhale and exhale with me before I let go.

I say: I know. I love you. See you tomorrow.

The Tree says: I’ll be here.