After The Storm

After The Storm

Now that the spring tempest is over and the ground
is littered with twigs and juicy, green leaves flung
off mother tree long before they should, it gladdens
the woods that the old oak still stands although it is
almost hollow inside and is home to a family of foxes,
myriads of insects, and a 40 years old bachelor hawk.
It is the oldest wild tree around; there is an older
one though an olive tree that still remembers when
Roman soldiers marched through here and the young
centurion who rested in its shadow, fell asleep and
dreamt of becoming a new Cesar. Whether he made
it or not the olive has no way of knowing. The reason
other trees were glad the oak endure is that that its
presence gives them the hope of longevity