The lone sentinel of a forgotten era stands dutifully in its eternal resting place, its roots digging deep into the earth once crowded with many other trees’ roots, now laid bare for farming. The only competition for nutrients, yarn-like tendrils of yearly planted crops. The crops and the roots change often, yet the lone soldier stands strong, never wavering.
It stands in the middle of the field, alone, casting a striking silhouette. Its branches bow in the restless wind, which now whistles unfettered across the open farmland. Its branches creak a solemn soliloquy to its fallen brethren, other trees cut short of their potential.
Seasons unending have unfolded around this sentry since it was lovingly placed into the ground as a seed. It broke through the earth and grew silently alongside a burgeoning nation. It has heard whispers of revolution, cries of victory, and wails of despair, all the while offering refuge to those in need, beneath its broad branches.