The Oak

The oak stands straight and tall regal figure shadowed against the sky. Bold and still, firm and unmoved its outstretched branches and leaves cling tightly. An overcast gray white cloud filled sky threatens the area with swift, strong, gusting winds. The tree flows with the rush as it races, air brushing its skirts shaking free once teetering leaves. A chill fills the atmosphere it shakes the body sending shivers that takes breath away. The earth is alive, flowing with motion sweeping and swaying with the breeze, alive and living fully. Immovable, unchallenged, the oak holds its ground standing guard, a soldier at the gate of the world. It draws the setting sun deep within its trunk holding it to await the start of a new day.