I stared at the tree, dumbfounded. Two years ago this was a whole forest! But through all it’s been through this one tree made it. The tree I carved my initials into,
M.Q. +
B.G.

The letters were now mere lines, made rigid with time. I approached the tree quietly, my head down, as if, some kind of superior being. But, it’s not, it’s a lonely tree left to crash and burn, like so many others.

Tears stain my burning cheeks as I reach out, only to feel the scratchy bark against my pulsing fingers. Wind blows the leaves westward, but somehow none fall. Above me clouds hover, as if they’re waiting for my absence to finally let the rain fall.

The old oak tree forms a dull shadow aroung the place I stand. The shadow resembles a heart, maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe it meant something.
something flawlessly perfect,

a symbol,

a blessing. . .