I Am Like the Oak

It's a beautiful autumn day and I wander through the tall grass.
My breath catches but I'm grateful I can breathe.
I find the spot I'm searching for.
I'm getting tired but I'm grateful I can sit and rest here.

Under the oak tree.

The ancient oak is like a wise old soul, at least 200 years old.
She is nearly hollow at the base from different creatures digging around her and different diseases ravaging her.
She is nearly hollow in the middle of her trunk and the top of it that soars to the sky.
She's bent, her huge roots tugging at the grass to keep her upright.
She is my favorite tree in the woods.

I am like the oak.

She is still very much alive.
She is still strong with gorgeous huge branches and lovely leaves, with hollows for the woodpeckers and the cardinals to make their homes.
she has given herself to the sheltering of so many – birds, small woodland animals, honeybees, my baby son in his baby swing so long ago.
And now myself.
She reminds me of me.

I am like the oak.

I sit underneath the tree to be with her, both of us quiet. Both of us tired. Both of us no longer the way we used to be.
We're still standing.
We're not through with the world yet.
We have no intention of falling, even though we lean very far, much farther than we used to.
Although it's strange, I feel a kinship with this tree.

I am like the oak.

Her branches are huge, as big as trees themselves.
Her giant roots connect with the ecosystem underground and I hope other trees are communicating with her.
I picture them helping her, like I've read trees do.
Will she live longer because of it?
She needs the support.

I am like the oak.

Looking at her with all her majestic faults, I know she has a lot to teach me about myself.
She is scarred and twisted and I find her uniqueness genuinely beautiful.
Strong.
Vital to her world.
I am like the oak.

You too are like the oak.