I remember the dirt buried beneath my fingernails.
The anxious feeling of a young girl, choosing the perfect seed to plant.
I remember the sense of calm.
Sitting against the weak trunk of a four - foot tree, finishing my middle school English novel.
I remember those summer nights.
You and me, perched upon the tree branch; a high school romance, soon to be shattered by the uncertainty college withholds.
I remember the kiss.
A ceremony of vows as the autumn leaves fell upon the makeshift isle in the backyard.
I remember the laughter.
The sleeping bags and hidden stashes of candy and sugar in the children's treehouse.
I remember the photographs.
In the background of Confirmation, Prom, and Graduation pictures, stood the sturdy Oak.
Now I sit.
In my old age.
I stare through the window as my husband brushes away a strand of silver hair from my wrinkled cheek.
I stare at the peeling bark, the wilted branches, the memories this tree contains.
This tree is old and tired.
This tree has had a good life.