Sunday, August 17, 2008
If trees could speak, what story would they tell? All those scars that show in the face form an intricate lace of memories so deeply ingrained and here to stay. Leaning sideways from a heavy burden or were it the unrelenting winds that made it bend? Maybe it was just reaching for the sun. It has witnessed times and changes and has carried the weight of the memories. I take it any day over the straight upwards growing column of smooth and plain bark of its neighbor.
It is writing week. Back to my paper / article. I am writing about death and literature, maybe that triggered new entries.