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.