I don’t know anything about this tree.
I spotted it nearly seven years ago on one of my first runs here in Arkansas, and it just hit some note inside me, and it became my friend.
Can you be friends with a tree?
I suppose if you’re The Lorax you can, but what about a living, breathing person, can that person become friends with a tree?
I suppose so . . .
I’ve made up countless stories in my head about this tree, as I’m sure I’ve told you, and have witnessed it through the four seasons, through all sorts of weather.
It brings comfort and security to me as I run past it in the mornings or late afternoons, and I always save the road it sits along for last along my route.
I’ve seen hawks settle in it’s top most branches and snow gathered about it’s feet.
I’ve seen it in the early morning pearly light, dew drops decorating it’s bark, and I’ve seen it in the harsh noon day sun.
But my tree is best dressed in the late afternoon and twilight golden light.
It becomes majestic and even more lonesome looking, standing as it does in the empty field, surrounded by other empty fields and vacant lots.
In the evenings, the music of cattle lowing in the pastures next to the deserted lots mixes with the notes of the cicadas in the summer; in the winter, only cold winds blowing through it’s bare branches sing it to sleep.
Last night I paid a visit to my old friend, and found him to be as majestic and beautiful as ever.