At the Beech


A towering beech along a path bends slightly to the side guiding passersby. Tattoo’d by life, autographed by lovers. Their initials proclaim-

This is the one I love!

Some of them etched fresh and green like the passion of new love felt … tender and raw. Others are settled and worn grown into the skin of greying bark. An elegant adornment.

A quiet whisper of love old and tested and tested and tried; bearing faint scars of storms weathered.

That which endures.

How strange a stately aging tree should tell the story of love, never having been able to reach out and touch the faces of those whose names are written.


2 responses to “At the Beech

  1. Love this, E. Truly. (but you know what? In my inbox, the formatting was wild and crazy – and I kinda like it, actually.)


    • Thanks, Diana! And yeah, I was having trouble with the formatting. It would look fine on my computer, and all wonky on the phone app. I was hoping that it might be a serendipitous wild and crazy looking post. You affirmed it. 🙂


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