Proud Oak

I feel proud of my heritage, love being an oak. We are majestic, but not haughty. Nurturing, but in an aloof, comfortable way. I am a haven for robins, squirrels, and a multitude of bugs. They wander my trunk, enjoying their day. My crevices keep them safe from raindrops and storms. I feel them hunker down, and I smile, glad I can help. My parents reside in this forest, not far from me. Dad has a multitude of limbs that have fallen. One came down during a lightning strike last October. We thought we would lose him, but only a left arm. Mom is busy listening to the songbirds; she specializes in cardinals. When a red flash darts past, I know he is heading toward mom. Dad has had an infestation of crows lately; after the arm incident. Their incessant caws drove me wild until I recruited a hoot owl. The hoot owl frightened them away in record time. We are part of a heritage of wonderful, nurturing, loving oaks. Guardians of the forest, not far from a gurgling moving brook. Nestled at our feet are trusting mushrooms, violets and moss. Our specialty is meditation; please stop by and enjoy our silence.