To The Mimosa Souls,

There’s an ancient Mimosa tree out in front of my porch that has been there around forty years now. Lord knows how many storms she’s seen. Ice storms that split stronger trees clean in two. Summers so dry the dirt cracked open like old pottery. Winds that peeled tin off barns and sent lawn chairs halfway to the next county.

Yet there she stands.

Crooked as a gossip trail and twice as pretty.

Every spring, she comes back throwin’ pink silk blossoms into the air like she’s hostin’ some kinda celebration nobody else remembered to attend. Bees hummin’ it sounds like she’s plugged into electricity. Limbs swayin’ waving hello. Leaves foldin’ shut gentle as praying hands come nightfall.

Now folks who don’t know trees like kin folk will look at a Mimosa and think she’s delicate. Too soft. Too sensitive. They’ll say, “That tree bends too easy.” But I’ve sat on this porch long enough to know the truth of things.

The oak fights the storm.

The Mimosa dances with it.

That’s why she’s still here.

And I got to thinkin’ lately how many people out there are just human Mimosa trees walkin’ around in boots and blue jeans. Nervous systems tuned so fine they feel every shift in the weather before the clouds even gather. Folks who absorb rooms the second they enter em. Folks who carry beauty and sorrow in the very same bucket.

The world don’t treat those people kindly.

Calls em dramatic. Emotional. Scatterbrained. Says they need thicker skin. But I ain’t so sure anymore. Cause the same people who cry easy are usually the same ones feedin’ stray cats, rememberin’ birthdays, pullin’ over for turtles in the road, and sittin’ up all night with the dyin’.

Sensitive people notice things.

That’s their gift and their burden both.

And just like that Mimosa tree, they fold inward when there’s too much touch, too much noise, too much chaos. That ain’t weakness. That’s wisdom built into the roots.

Even the tree knows when enough is enough.

What most folks don’t realize is the Mimosa’s also called the Happiness Tree. Ain’t that somethin’? Not because she never suffers, but because she still blooms anyway. Even after rough winters. Even after branches break. Even after drought.

Especially after drought.

That old tree out there taught me more than half the preachers ever did. She taught me softness ain’t the opposite of strength. Sometimes softness is what survives when harder things crack apart.

So if you’re one of those folks out there feelin’ worn thin by this loud hard world, maybe quit tryin’ so hard to become an oak.

Maybe you were meant to be a Mimosa all along.

And honey… the world needs Happiness Trees too.

Mimosa medicine is said to be an ally for: “people whose hearts stayed open after life gave them every reason to close.”

Love,

A Mountain Mint