An
ancient oak, larger than life,
Added a new ring each year that I grew;
its branches stretched
higher
and wider than
my near-sighted eyes could
see.
Its
summer canopy kept me cool.
Its
fall acorns fed pigs and squirrels.
Its
history lay hidden under
thick layers of bark.
Its
roots spread onto the dirt road,
as if it could travel, too,
keeping our stories in its ring
cycles.
Then
standing without new leaves,
with branches breaking,
Falling
before me.
©cmheuer, 7/2023
