The Tree

Centuries have I stood. Countless generations passed by me. Many enjoyed my shelter. Some have seen other things.

There was a time when I was young. A sapling, protected by my parent. A great forest surrounded me, but now, that has gone.

As I grew, children would climb my trunk and sit on my boughs. Shrieks of laughter and accomplishment at having achieved what seemed impossible at first.

Young lovers carved their initials in my bark, it was a bit painful, but I reveled in their joy. How many, I wonder, went on to raise a family.

Great storms I have seen: some of nature, some of man. Strong winds would tear my branches off. War saw the loss of one great bough. Men were hung from that bough. Death it's purpose—to death it went.

As I grew old, brittleness began and great storms tore my top boughs from me—but I remain. Protecting myself with swathes of ivy, so no one can climb me anymore.

Now, I am just a reminder.

Now, I am ancient.

Now—I am history.
Why do you stare?
Don't you know your way is to the future?
The direction I point?

Go friend .... Walk your path.
Feb 23, 2015

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