Ode To An Old Oak

Ode To An Old Oak

The tree swayed in

the summer breeze.

Lofty winds

whipped through

strong branches,

Twisting the

leaves like

whirling dervish.

Atop the mighty oak, a forgotten tree house withheld the test of time.

Cold winters and blowing snow.

The rushing of hot summer winds - The baking of the sun.

The lightening of fall tipping the branch tops.

The warm-cold weather of springs gone by.

Those all were factors of the greying and rotting of the wooden house perched high above ground. The huge nails hammered by little hands are the reminders of the toil that went into the secret house on high.

Young sweat lingers no more.

Wood splinters in adolescent fingers have long been forgotten.

The partially broken ladder still hangs firm against the thick spine of the tree's trunk.

Have those dreams faded? What are young boys up to now-a-days? Have they grown too old for tree houses and shimmying up tall oaks? Have they outgrown sitting lazily on a hot summer day with their bare feet dangling from a swaying branch?

Are those days really gone?

Or does our youth have to be taught the experiences of days gone by?

I had a tree house once. It's gone now, but my memory of it is as vivid as the blazen sunset settling into the horizon as I watched the sun sink into the earth from my majestic perch.

Those days I will never forget!

Don't let our youth of today dwindle away in front of some video game . . .