Tree Song

On nights like this when I cannot sleep, when the rain's lullaby does not suffice to comfort me, I rise from my bed and throw the window open to let in the night. The rain lets itself in after, and I stare up at the tree behind our house, bare of all foliage, all colour; it's wet bark inky black as though blown across a page with a plastic straw. My eyes move as though to count the branches, but they appear infinite, uneven fractals spiralling wildly into a low sky, cast bronze by the street lights. In the storm, its voice is the mightiest of whispers. The most profound of lullabies. I gaze up at its boughs until my skin grows numb. Then slink back into sleep.