Acorn

Against the unlikeliest of circumstance, it
found its way to the floor, uneaten, and
some amount of leafy debris covered it
hide-and-seek but no one was looking
and it starts with a root.  Stretching in
sun salutation, it looks for the tiny razors
of light through the canopy above, catching
the rays and drinking in the moisture from
the moldy forest floor.  A decade in a minute,
a year every second, and the sapling becomes
a tree that towers, pushing, bullying the crowds
huddled around to gawk at the sun until,
in triumphant jubilation, of months rather than
milliseconds, it bursts through and dominates its peers,
lording over all until the autumn.