this wonderful old oak tree has stood for very many years
in the parkland outside our house,
but the exceptional rainfall and strong winds
this year are gradually felling it "au naturel"
when I come home at dusk the rooks are roosting in its
finger-like branches before nesting for the night,
creating quite a surreal scene-
backlit by grey skies and a hint of moonlight its like
something from Edgar Allan Poe!
The wood inside is quite dead and the tree has only been allowed to stand
in its decaying state, as a haven for wildlife, because its far away from
any area where the general public might stray
Nature looks after her own, but its nevertheless a sad sight
to see such a grand monument of the English countryside
gradually crumble back to the earth
I didn't hear it crash to the ground- there's an old saying that
trees don't make a sound unless there's someone to listen
beautiful textures of weathered old bark against the fresh wound
and beautiful patterns as the water cascades down the trunk
I suspect this weighty branch will be the next "casualty" to fall
hopefully it'll stand for another few days and achieve another notch-
I know rings appear in the wood so you can calculate age,
and had a funny thought that perhaps they magically appear
at the stroke of midnight like an automatic calendar change?!