The Tree Whisperer

18/05/2026

06/05/2026

I Do Not Know

I used to reach for answers
like they were handles
on a world that could be held—
tight-fisted, named, explained.

I said: this is life.
This is suffering.
This is the way it goes.
And life—
quiet, patient—
undid me.

Not all at once,
but in the slow
language of loss,
in the spaces
where certainty
could not survive.

What I knew
fell from me
In pieces—
like leaves that
finally understand

they were never
meant to stay.
And still,
something remained.

Not knowledge.
Not control.
But a softer way
of seeing.
A listening.
A willingness
to stand
at the edge
of everything
and say:

I do not know—
and that is where
life begins.
Because the river
does not ask
where it is going.

The sky does not cling
to yesterday’s light.
And we—
fragile, fleeting,
unfinished—
are not here to
conclude the story,
but to be carried
through it.

So I loosen my grip
on answers that
once felt like safety.
I bow to the mystery
I cannot outthink.

Life goes on—
not because
I understand it,
but because I don’t.

And in that unknowing,
I am finally open
enough
to live.

Amy Innes

03/05/2026

03/04/2026