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.