The Age of a Tree

Bonnie Reeder, Third Place 1/3

I was taught to tell the age of a tree by counting its rings. A useful bit of information except, The trees I usually associate with are alive.

Everybody knows you can no sooner ask a tree its age, Than you can the woman at the market. And so, the subtle sleuthing begins.

One must casually inspect the wrinkled bark; Discretely assess the fruitfulness; Look for signs of thinning;

A tree may fool anyone, By wearing trendy leaves and blushing up with blossoms. Don’t let those details distract you.

Instead focus on the vertexes, Is it sturdy enough to climb? Have little critters had time to burrow and nest?

Practice guessing as you sit in the shade, Of what you think is an established pillar. And don’t be discouraged if your estimate is centuries off.

Every skill requires a little failure.

Every venture is a lesson unlearned. Every disaster opens seeds for success.

I heard tell once that it is easiest to distinguish The aged trees from the sapling when the weather gets cold. They say the old let go of their leaves while the young cling tight.

Do old trees get too weary to fight the inevitable? Or perhaps, experiencing a few rings around the trunk, They grow trust that all things in their season come back.