A Twig

Have you ever felt like you were a tree limb clinging to a branch, which hangs on to the trunk for dear life?  I'm looking out the window at a tree limb, sagging toward the ground, and thinking about how each of us can relate.  Sometimes we must be the trunk; hold up strong for others.  Often we are the branch, stretched between our parents (especially if they are elderly) on one end and our kids on the other.  The parents are the fragile end, the twig, and our kids are the truck because they are now the stronger generation.

As the weather goes, so goes the twigs.  Sometimes I feel fragile and ready to break when so many things come along to weaken me.  However, what would happen if I did?  My day will come to be a twig, hanging on for dear life, literally, but for now I must be a branch and provide what I can for both the young and old.  Does this make sense?