I see grass and trees: tall, solitary things

that can pull themselves back upright after being trampled,

or hold their ground in raging floods and gale-force winds.

Beaten dogs who still wag their tails

and premature babies whose thumbprint hearts

beat strong and steady.

Withstand.

With. Stand.

You are with Stand.

Suddenly, not so isolated, to withstand.

You are in the presence of standing- in the presence of a tree,

a blade of grass, and small frail things that with Stood.

(from a reading prompt challenge that was closed by the time I found it. One of those seemingly benign, ‘reach for the closest book by you, turn to page 47, write about the fifth word in the last paragraph’ things that somehow shock you into that awesome writing place within you.)