Just about a hundred yards south of my kitchen table, there is a tree that is pretty darn old. A few hurricanes ago, the top of it was cracked off in the wind and some experts wanted to cut down the rest but that temptation was resisted. Now it looks a bit improbable - a bushy, kid's lollipop top and a face made of knots from by-gone branches. We call it the old man in the tree. The face scares the dog some and the kids when they first see it.
The shadow of said tree
We think the tree is about 75 years old...maybe a replacement from the hurricane of 1938. Its shadow reaches out to an old cannon mount that is considerably older, perhaps the turn of the last century or even before.
This scene is repeated with some variation every morning and that is comforting. It is nice to think of things that were here long before you set foot near them and will remain long after one turns to ashes; stored neatly in some hall closet. It puts transience and insignificance into perspective.
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