The sky is dark and gloomy, the air thick hot and most. The only sound that reaches my ears is that of the rain falling softly around me. My only shelter is this old tree under which I sit. It's wide branches and leaves are my only protection from the tears that fall from the sky. it's thick and sturdy trunck guards my back. Oh old and wise tree what would you say if you could speak? What secrets do your roots hold? Perhaps stories of men such as myself searching for shelter. Or of lovers basking in your shade to dodge the heat of the summer sun. Or perhaps more dreadful things, of life and love lost. Have any hung from your branches? What terrible sights have you seen? Wake o wise tree and share your stories with me. Pass on your knowledge and wisdom. Tell of all the changes you have seen whilst you stood guard of so many years. Speak of your brothers that have fallen or been fell to build homes or fires to keep men warm. None of these seem to be a fitting end for such a noble being. But the tree cannot speak, even if it did I do not know if I would like the things it would say to me. Might it ridicule me for the destruction that my species has caused? Or might it thank me for not cutting it down? For not tearing it's limbs apart. Does it enjoy my company or does it loathe my presence? Either way it cannot say. Thank you tree for your company an your shelter but I must be on my way and continue my journey. Perhaps our paths will meet again someday and I may sit under your branches for a brief rest from life's many troubles.