I was walking on path down by Lake Wingra yesterday, when up ahead I saw gloriously twisted oak branches:
I have a very old oak tree in my back yard. I'm looking at it as I write this, and I've been looking at it for 20 years. I've had a long and deep relationship with my tree. (It seems absurd to call it "mine" -- this thing which has lived so much longer than I have and which will almost surely live on after me.) But that the tree up ahead...
I knew it was big when mine was an acorn.
Ah, what's this little path?
It's a path to a plaque:
"This significant tree"... alive in the time of the Founders... Your humble blogger is wearing dark sunglasses, so she does not worry that some passerby might see that she is moved to tears.