Each of them stood, alone, stunning against the sky.
One overlooked the far reaches of the sea, its few branches bearing evidence of fierce winds sweeping in from distant and unseen places, gales coming across and up the rocky cliff, beating against all in its path, including the still-standing tree, resisting the onslaught.
Another’s limbs stretched skyward, like a blossoming flower, its roots sunk deep in the soil by the lake.
And still another, beautiful for its twisted, weathered grain, had but a single branch as it were, horizontal between earth and sky. By the rock it was planted, solid, unmovable. And holes were in evidence in the wood, and remnants of cloth as if something had once been tied there.
Oh, the beauty of the tree.
Thank you.