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  • Writer's pictureCrone

From an acorn...

One deer could eat it. One misplaced step could snap the stem. Farm machinery could flatten it or cut it down.


This is growing in a bridle path or a footpath. I can't recall. What are its chances?


All the millions of acorns; so few even get the chance to sprout. And if they do... this.


Ah! What it would be to be certain of growing into a veteran tree! What it would be to will that vast canopy, those twisting branches, that corded trunk into existence!


The tender hope of youth.


And so many creatures now will never grow to the size and age they once attained.


Can there be a good life in a world where only humans matter?

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