Jay Bait

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The Shade We Seek

Yesterday,
I walked beneath an open sky—
a blue sea draped over the world.
I saw children playing near a tree,
laughter like falling leaves.
Later, I passed again.
The children were quiet now,
resting in the cool hush beneath that same tree.

Though the day burned hot,
the space beneath its arms was peace itself.
And I thought—
some people are like trees.
They offer shade without asking,
comfort without pride,
a quiet place to rest
when the world scorches you.

But no one wonders—
where do the trees go
when they need shade?
Who covers them
when the sun bears down
and their roots ache?

Maybe the clouds…
Those passersby who float above,
offering brief moments of shelter,
never staying long,
but just enough
to remind the tree it's not alone.

The tree wants to say thank you.
It wants to whisper its gratitude
to those distant shapes in the sky.
That's why it grows upward,
reaching, stretching,
aching—
not just for light,
but for the chance
to say thank you
before it's too late.

But it reaches its limit.
And the clouds
never hear.

And then I asked myself—
what am I?

The child who forgets the shade once rested in?
The tree that gives and never asks?
The cloud who helps and floats on?
Or am I none of them—
just a silence between roles,
a space where meaning never roots?

And in that moment,
I feared the truth:
that maybe I am nothing.
And the silence didn't correct me.

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