The Tree of Time

The Spanish moss whisked through the misty air as a dog, black and white, ripped around the grassy backyard.

The tree stands proudly upon the land beneath it as it has for many years, watching over land, watching the birds come and go and as the seasons pass.

And here, the tree still stands, still watching over these lush lands. As the branches start to fall, the tree remains firm and tall, as it reaches for the sky above,

Yearning for some desperate love.