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Roots that claw deep into the earth's memory,
anchoring them to centuries of sun and storm.
Bark, a roadmap etched with the passage of seasons,
each line a silent testament to survival.

They have witnessed dawns that painted landscapes now forgotten,
felt the tread of feet that turned to dust,
heard whispers of winds carrying tales of long-gone eras.

Their leaves, a million tiny hands,
reaching for the light, breathing in the world's changes,
rustling with secrets only time understands.

They stand as silent sentinels,
unmoved by the fleeting dramas of human life,
their steady presence a profound counterpoint
to our hurried existence.

No need for pronouncements, no clamor for attention.
Their wisdom is not spoken, but embodied.
In the slow, deliberate unfurling of a new leaf,
in the steadfast resilience against the harshest winds,
in the quiet generosity of shade offered without expectation.

Look closely, and you might glimpse it:
the patient understanding in the gnarled branches,
the deep knowing in the stillness of their core.

They teach without words, their very being a lesson
in endurance, in interconnectedness,
in the profound peace that comes from simply being,
rooted and reaching, through the endless turning of time.
A wisdom that whispers not in sound, but in the silent language of growth and being.

©bfa051125

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