She is a soft place to land and a strong place to climb.

Her limbs stretch in all directions: One hand soothing, the other offering support.

One foot rocking the baby, the other grounding the home.

She is roots—buried deep and unseen, quietly holding everything together.

She steadies the ground beneath her family, even when the winds of growing up try to shake the whole world loose.

She is the shade on a hot day, the soft rustle that says “I’m right here,”

the shelter from storms no one else sees coming.

And though she may not always be seen, she is always felt.

In the way her child breathes easier beside her. In the way they know where to run when the skies grow dark.

In the way her love weaves itself into their memories like sunlight between leaves.

She is their giving tree.