How to claim the pathetic fallacy

We name overgrowth as if it were excess, not durability. The shade flung from cedars is momentary, simultaneous across each latitude. When personifying we offer up limbs, claim faces, but our hearts are: ringed, coniferous. Southern pines mark time with greater precision, needle lines lantern across each stream. We pause in the underbrush, call comfort this continuous band, the length of ambition veined with light. I am not alone in these woods; I have found no clearing.

Aviva Cristy