my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told?

If tall trees could talk, what would they say? If tall trees could talk, I don’t know about you but I would get a little nervous and a little curious. Oh, and that reminds me of my nervous, curious day in the midst of a great wise oak. Listen.

One day I went out to play after lunch and you would not believe what happened. As I sat at the base of a very large, broad oak tree; I heard a noise. It was not just any noise, but a voice. This voice was soft but increased with every creak and wind whistling leaf on each branch. It was as if the wind blew across the wind pipe of a centuries old wood flute. As I placed my ear closer to the tree trunk I sensed a sound of sarcasm as the tree directly asked If I was comfortable lying on his favorite right root. I of course was dumbfounded but could only answer “well yes I believe I am.” Nervously I stepped back. At that very moment an acorn as if sent by the big oak himself fell to the ground only to hit me squarely in the head. “Ahhw” I exclaimed! Then a voice immediately asked me to sit down and relax and to prepare for a lengthy story. I decided to sit down; after all, trees do not usually speak in terms such as this for a human to understand. Regardless, I was intrigued and willing to gain valuable knowledge from this oak of ages; and I was able and willing to listen to what the tree was needing to tell me.

The winds suddenly picked up and the large oak exclaimed, “Thank you for taking time to sit down and listen.” “Most people today do not listen!” “Do you realize I have sat growing here in this soil for four hundred and forty two years and you are the first?” “Call it luck, call it fate, say your gifted, say whatever you want, but you seem to hear my words and this is my moment as well as yours.” I was truly surprised to say the least, and of course excited to gain the insight and wisdom one could learn from such a timeless opportunity, so I told the oak to tell me more!”

“I wanted you to know, said the oak”, that four and a half centuries ago, as a little acorn I fell from an oak tree much smaller than myself that sat directly where that highway runs now. It was quite a drop, about thirty or forty feet I guess. Interestingly enough I landed on the head of a person much different than those of today! He wore some leather, feathers and had some what red skin. It was a much simpler time and nearly all of the people, although very few, seemed to hear everything we trees said. When they listened we felt safe. When they listened we could rely on our survival. As a matter of fact, that young red skinned person of ages ago planted me not far from the tree on this exact spot in which I root! He took the time to place me for living…he took time for nature in giving. So, instead of simply becoming a squirrel’s lunch, here I am centuries later; a pillar in your neighborhood; a fortunate survivor of industrialization and expansion! “Wow I exclaimed, I never realized your journey.” “Tell me more!” Well, as I said before there were many friendly people living in this area for centuries. They were very quiet and lead simple lives. One thing I always remembered is that they always gave back when they took something from us trees, from animals or anything else for that matter. We were secure in that relationship. As time moved on however things changed. Everything changed. First, other people began moving in near my forest. Always making loud noises. Their skin was a lighter white color and they did not speak or act the same. Although many seemed very nice; some were not. These people did not get along well with those who had lived so many peaceful years in my forest. I myself witnessed many treaties and peace agreements between these new lighter skin people and the red skin people. These agreements never held; many continued to perish among the forest floor to sickness and disagreement. The red skinned people were executed for my forest; how sad we were and the willows wept. It seemed to some that the forest was worth killing for. So for decades they fought to a bloody end. Eventually the lighter skinned people took over and expanded. I was just a small tree at the time and can only remember trying to survive the cold winters. I seen many of those lighter skinned people die to cold and starvation; but they kept coming. I witnessed many of my oak, maple, birch and pine brothers cut from the living soil. They were stacked neatly on four sides and the people lived within their structure. Some called them homes; I called them a dark destiny. Many of us were also burned alive to sustain these foreign visitors, and with every chop or saw tooth scream, I shrieked.

Years later, the lighter skinned people carved pathways through my family and friends and began riding horses through them. How violated we felt as so helpless to do nothing; our security lost. Soon enough there was much yelling and scuffle over something called taxation without representation; and then chaos erupted. Disregard for life as if I had never seen. Many in red and those in blue fought for my forest. So many men died in my forest. The very buzzards and birds that lived on my branches now scoured the battle fields of death for a morbid meal. How sad it was to see so many dead. Lives once again snuffed over disagreement. Their blood drained unto the ground and made my leaves wilt. “I was disturbed by what I heard, but to think of such circumstance took place right outside my home and I never realized its existence!” “Go on I stated, tell me more big oak!”

Well, some years later something terrible happened. Although I had seen some people who were very dark in skin color, as they grew in numbers they began to be treated even worse. They were treated less than white skin peoples dogs. With a birds eye view I pierced through my forest over to a large planted field in which those dark skinned people were whipped and beat as they worked in the scorching sun. I was so caught in emotion, I sought to cover them with my branch for a shady rest. I was restrained only by my planted roots; but within myself an angry creak lye waiting. One night, I heard dogs barking across the foggy field. They came closer as if to chase a coon. They however were not chasing coons or any animals for that matter; but a dark skinned man. Behind him were white men with flickering torches in the night and a scowl of hatred among their faces. With such nerve, among the shining moon they captured that man and made an attempt to hang him upon my branch. I could not stand for such murder. As they tied the rope around my branch and removed the horse beneath his legs I held him for only a moment. When the men and dogs left; I broke my branch. After a moderate amount of choking, that dark skin man ran free. I realized, physically he was temporarily free; but in his mind and the minds of others he would continue to struggle for his freedom. If you look hard you can still see the scar I have from that broken branch from years past. Remember carefully friend; scars always remain when evil men mingle.

It was not long before a man by the name of Abraham Lincoln did his best to free those dark skin people. So much so, the bloodiest war yet erupted. It was simply a war over right and wrong; but would not be so simple. We as trees however; maple, oak, pine or birch could only watch in dismay. Canons, horses, soldiers of blue and gray. They fought and died; woman and children cried. It was awful. “In listening to big oaks story, I was in tears, and could hardly utter a word to the big oak.” “What next I strained to ask.” Well, one early evening a squad of soldiers tied their shelter to my trunk. They sat amongst a camp fire; with darkened words I heard. One soldier spoke about his brother who fights to free the slaves and how if given a chance he would take his own brothers life. Another soldier spoke of his hatred for dark skinned people and if given his chance he would murder the first he found. Another soldier lye dying at my very trunk, near your sitting. He bled from a wound in battle and cried out in agony. That morning he died and his fellow soldiers cried. As they moved to their next positions, I thought the taller and greater I grew the more human blood ran through my roots. It seemed that my growth could not catch the larger darkness growing in such a world where beauty was surely possible. As the wind blew in those horrific years we trees prayed with every wind, that the war would end; and the captive would be free. We trees could not hold another life upon our branch as instruments of murder. In a flicker of hope that war did end and legally those dark skinned people were physically free. As with any evil plan however; the murder of those people would not end until more blood was shed.

Can you hear that train in the distance? “Sure I exclaimed, it comes through town three times a day, morning, noon and night.” Yes, that’s correct but, do you know why it comes? Rooted here I watched those railroad tracks become reality. Men dreamed it and then built it; most however were not the light skinned men I once spoke of, but a people the white men called yellow. Yellow men as often called, did build that railroad. I witnessed it. Pounding, sweating, bleeding and working all hours of the day and night. They as others were also treated less than dogs or animals. Yet they built so much, assisted with so many in these lands, and as the others, were also murdered and exploited for who they were. So, as those people of color yet feared for their security and lives, as with industrialization and technology did the oaks, maples, pines and birch also insecurely exist. I witnessed a reflection of those people of colors lives within the lives of my fellow trees.

The fight for freedom for those dark and yellow skinned people continued, as well as for others. “Remember those red skinned people I spoke of earlier?” “Yes I remember”, well they continued in their struggles among these lands. I remember for some years many of those peoples children were taken away. They were gathered as fresh kindling wood for a fire. A fire that would burn down so many of those peoples lives. After taking these children from their parents, I remember the light skinned men marching these children from school to school just beyond the distance of this forest. I could barely gain a glimpse, however; that was enough. I could hear those men telling those children to be someone they were not. The light skinned men shaved the children’s heads and beat them regularly. When they were finished years later, I was still there, but the children were not. They were an empty shell; grown to a world in which no one accepted them. Even their own mothers and fathers disowned them. In the end many did not need a rope and tree by white men to remove their lives; the teachings were enough and many died at the hands of themselves years later; entrophy was their end. Before we knew it, small strange moving vehicles that people rode from place to place arrived. Not long after, the execution of my fellow trees became wide spread. Path after path, and a poisoning fog occasionally set in along with a sickened rain that wilted my leaves. We trees choked with concern, fearing for our lives. Before long, housing and industry became wide spread. Some how we trees sensed that these buildings and other contraptions were our own brothers taken away to only be destroyed and compressed into something the lighter skinned people deemed more useful; and so it also was for those people of color.

Within my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told? I

lization and expansion! “Wow I exclaimed, I never realized your journey.” “Tell me more!” Well, as I said before there were many friendly people living in this area for centuries. They were very quiet and lead simple lives. One thing I always remembered is that they always gave back when they took something from us trees, from animals or anything else for that matter. We were secure in that relationship. As time moved on however things changed. Everything changed. First, other people began moving in near my forest. Always making loud noises. Their skin was a lighter white color and they did not speak or act the same. Although many seemed very nice; some were not. These people did not get along well with those who had lived so many peaceful years in my forest. I myself witnessed many treaties and peace agreements between these new lighter skin people and the red skin people. These agreements never held; many continued to perish among the forest floor to sickness and disagreement. The red skinned people were executed for my forest; how sad we were and the willows wept. It seemed to some that the forest was worth killing for. So for decades they fought to a bloody end. Eventually the lighter skinned people took over and expanded. I was just a small tree at the time and can only remember trying to survive the cold winters. I seen many of those lighter skinned people die to cold and starvation; but they kept coming. I witnessed many of my oak, maple, birch and pine brothers cut from the living soil. They were stacked neatly on four sides and the people lived within their structure. Some called them homes; I called them a dark destiny. Many of us were also burned alive to sustain these foreign visitors, and with every chop or saw tooth scream, I shrieked.

Years later, the lighter skinned people carved pathways through my family and friends and began riding horses through them. How violated we felt as so helpless to do nothing; our security lost. Soon enough there was much yelling and scuffle over something called taxation without representation; and then chaos erupted. Disregard for life as if I had never seen. Many in red and those in blue fought for my forest. So many men died in my forest. The very buzzards and birds that lived on my branches now scoured the battle fields of death for a morbid meal. How sad it was to see so many dead. Lives once again snuffed over disagreement. Their blood drained unto the ground and made my leaves wilt. “I was disturbed by what I heard, but to think of such circumstance took place right outside my home and I never realized its existence!” “Go on I stated, tell me more big oak!”

Well, some years later something terrible happened. Although I had seen some people who were very dark in skin color, as they grew in numbers they began to be treated even worse. They were treated less than white skin peoples dogs. With a birds eye view I pierced through my forest over to a large planted field in which those dark skinned people were whipped and beat as they worked in the scorching sun. I was so caught in emotion, I sought to cover them with my branch for a shady rest. I was restrained only by my planted roots; but within myself an angry creak lye waiting. One night, I heard dogs barking across the foggy field. They came closer as if to chase a coon. They however were not chasing coons or any animals for that matter; but a dark skinned man. Behind him were white men with flickering torches in the night and a scowl of hatred among their faces. With such nerve, among the shining moon they captured that man and made an attempt to hang him upon my branch. I could not stand for such murder. As they tied the rope around my branch and removed the horse beneath his legs I held him for only a moment. When the men and dogs left; I broke my branch. After a moderate amount of choking, that dark skin man ran free. I realized, physically he was temporarily free; but in his mind and the minds of others he would continue to struggle for his freedom. If you look hard you can still see the scar I have from that broken branch from years past. Remember carefully friend; scars always remain when evil men mingle.

It was not long before a man by the name of Abraham Lincoln did his best to free those dark skin people. So much so, the bloodiest war yet erupted. It was simply a war over right and wrong; but would not be so simple. We as trees however; maple, oak, pine or birch could only watch in dismay. Canons, horses, soldiers of blue and gray. They fought and died; woman and children cried. It was awful. “In listening to big oaks story, I was in tears, and could hardly utter a word to the big oak.” “What next I strained to ask.” Well, one early evening a squad of soldiers tied their shelter to my trunk. They sat amongst a camp fire; with darkened words I heard. One soldier spoke about his brother who fights to free the slaves and how if given a chance he would take his own brothers life. Another soldier spoke of his hatred for dark skinned people and if given his chance he would murder the first he found. Another soldier lye dying at my very trunk, near your sitting. He bled from a wound in battle and cried out in agony. That morning he died and his fellow soldiers cried. As they moved to their next positions, I thought the taller and greater I grew the more human blood ran through my roots. It seemed that my growth could not catch the larger darkness growing in such a world where beauty was surely possible. As the wind blew in those horrific years we trees prayed with every wind, that the war would end; and the captive would be free. We trees could not hold another life upon our branch as instruments of murder. In a flicker of hope that war did end and legally those dark skinned people were physically free. As with any evil plan however; the murder of those people would not end until more blood was shed.

Can you hear that train in the distance? “Sure I exclaimed, it comes through town three times a day, morning, noon and night.” Yes, that’s correct but, do you know why it comes? Rooted here I watched those railroad tracks become reality. Men dreamed it and then built it; most however were not the light skinned men I once spoke of, but a people the white men called yellow. Yellow men as often called, did build that railroad. I witnessed it. Pounding, sweating, bleeding and working all hours of the day and night. They as others were also treated less than dogs or animals. Yet they built so much, assisted with so many in these lands, and as the others, were also murdered and exploited for who they were. So, as those people of color yet feared for their security and lives, as with industrialization and technology did the oaks, maples, pines and birch also insecurely exist. I witnessed a reflection of those people of colors lives within the lives of my fellow trees.

The fight for freedom for those dark and yellow skinned people continued, as well as for others. “Remember those red skinned people I spoke of earlier?” “Yes I remember”, well they continued in their struggles among these lands. I remember for some years many of those peoples children were taken away. They were gathered as fresh kindling wood for a fire. A fire that would burn down so many of those peoples lives. After taking these children from their parents, I remember the light skinned men marching these children from school to school just beyond the distance of this forest. I could barely gain a glimpse, however; that was enough. I could hear those men telling those children to be someone they were not. The light skinned men shaved the children’s heads and beat them regularly. When they were finished years later, I was still there, but the children were not. They were an empty shell; grown to a world in which no one accepted them. Even their own mothers and fathers disowned them. In the end many did not need a rope and tree by white men to remove their lives; the teachings were enough and many died at the hands of themselves years later; entrophy was their end. Before we knew it, small strange moving vehicles that people rode from place to place arrived. Not long after, the execution of my fellow trees became wide spread. Path after path, and a poisoning fog occasionally set in along with a sickened rain that wilted my leaves. We trees choked with concern, fearing for our lives. Before long, housing and industry became wide spread. Some how we trees sensed that these buildings and other contraptions were our own brothers taken away to only be destroyed and compressed into something the lighter skinned people deemed more useful; and so it also was for those people of color.

Within my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told?

eye view I pierced through my forest over to a large planted field in which those dark skinned people were whipped and beat as they worked in the scorching sun. I was so caught in emotion, I sought to cover them with my branch for a shady rest. I was restrained only by my planted roots; but within myself an angry creak lye waiting. One night, I heard dogs barking across the foggy field. They came closer as if to chase a coon. They however were not chasing coons or any animals for that matter; but a dark skinned man. Behind him were white men with flickering torches in the night and a scowl of hatred among their faces. With such nerve, among the shining moon they captured that man and made an attempt to hang him upon my branch. I could not stand for such murder. As they tied the rope around my branch and removed the horse beneath his legs I held him for only a moment. When the men and dogs left; I broke my branch. After a moderate amount of choking, that dark skin man ran free. I realized, physically he was temporarily free; but in his mind and the minds of others he would continue to struggle for his freedom. If you look hard you can still see the scar I have from that broken branch from years past. Remember carefully friend; scars always remain when evil men mingle.

It was not long before a man by the name of Abraham Lincoln did his best to free those dark skin people. So much so, the bloodiest war yet erupted. It was simply a war over right and wrong; but would not be so simple. We as trees however; maple, oak, pine or birch could only watch in dismay. Canons, horses, soldiers of blue and gray. They fought and died; woman and children cried. It was awful. “In listening to big oaks story, I was in tears, and could hardly utter a word to the big oak.” “What next I strained to ask.” Well, one early evening a squad of soldiers tied their shelter to my trunk. They sat amongst a camp fire; with darkened words I heard. One soldier spoke about his brother who fights to free the slaves and how if given a chance he would take his own brothers life. Another soldier spoke of his hatred for dark skinned people and if given his chance he would murder the first he found. Another soldier lye dying at my very trunk, near your sitting. He bled from a wound in battle and cried out in agony. That morning he died and his fellow soldiers cried. As they moved to their next positions, I thought the taller and greater I grew the more human blood ran through my roots. It seemed that my growth could not catch the larger darkness growing in such a world where beauty was surely possible. As the wind blew in those horrific years we trees prayed with every wind, that the war would end; and the captive would be free. We trees could not hold another life upon our branch as instruments of murder. In a flicker of hope that war did end and legally those dark skinned people were physically free. As with any evil plan however; the murder of those people would not end until more blood was shed.

Can you hear that train in the distance? “Sure I exclaimed, it comes through town three times a day, morning, noon and night.” Yes, that’s correct but, do you know why it comes? Rooted here I watched those railroad tracks become reality. Men dreamed it and then built it; most however were not the light skinned men I once spoke of, but a people the white men called yellow. Yellow men as often called, did build that railroad. I witnessed it. Pounding, sweating, bleeding and working all hours of the day and night. They as others were also treated less than dogs or animals. Yet they built so much, assisted with so many in these lands, and as the others, were also murdered and exploited for who they were. So, as those people of color yet feared for their security and lives, as with industrialization and technology did the oaks, maples, pines and birch also insecurely exist. I witnessed a reflection of those people of colors lives within the lives of my fellow trees.

The fight for freedom for those dark and yellow skinned people continued, as well as for others. “Remember those red skinned people I spoke of earlier?” “Yes I remember”, well they continued in their struggles among these lands. I remember for some years many of those peoples children were taken away. They were gathered as fresh kindling wood for a fire. A fire that would burn down so many of those peoples lives. After taking these children from their parents, I remember the light skinned men marching these children from school to school just beyond the distance of this forest. I could barely gain a glimpse, however; that was enough. I could hear those men telling those children to be someone they were not. The light skinned men shaved the children’s heads and beat them regularly. When they were finished years later, I was still there, but the children were not. They were an empty shell; grown to a world in which no one accepted them. Even their own mothers and fathers disowned them. In the end many did not need a rope and tree by white men to remove their lives; the teachings were enough and many died at the hands of themselves years later; entrophy was their end. Before we knew it, small strange moving vehicles that people rode from place to place arrived. Not long after, the execution of my fellow trees became wide spread. Path after path, and a poisoning fog occasionally set in along with a sickened rain that wilted my leaves. We trees choked with concern, fearing for our lives. Before long, housing and industry became wide spread. Some how we trees sensed that these buildings and other contraptions were our own brothers taken away to only be destroyed and compressed into something the lighter skinned people deemed more useful; and so it also was for those people of color.

Within my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told?

free. As with any evil plan however; the murder of those people would not end until more blood was shed.

Can you hear that train in the distance? “Sure I exclaimed, it comes through town three times a day, morning, noon and night.” Yes, that’s correct but, do you know why it comes? Rooted here I watched those railroad tracks become reality. Men dreamed it and then built it; most however were not the light skinned men I once spoke of, but a people the white men called yellow. Yellow men as often called, did build that railroad. I witnessed it. Pounding, sweating, bleeding and working all hours of the day and night. They as others were also treated less than dogs or animals. Yet they built so much, assisted with so many in these lands, and as the others, were also murdered and exploited for who they were. So, as those people of color yet feared for their security and lives, as with industrialization and technology did the oaks, maples, pines and birch also insecurely exist. I witnessed a reflection of those people of colors lives within the lives of my fellow trees.

The fight for freedom for those dark and yellow skinned people continued, as well as for others. “Remember those red skinned people I spoke of earlier?” “Yes I remember”, well they continued in their struggles among these lands. I remember for some years many of those peoples children were taken away. They were gathered as fresh kindling wood for a fire. A fire that would burn down so many of those peoples lives. After taking these children from their parents, I remember the light skinned men marching these children from school to school just beyond the distance of this forest. I could barely gain a glimpse, however; that was enough. I could hear those men telling those children to be someone they were not. The light skinned men shaved the children’s heads and beat them regularly. When they were finished years later, I was still there, but the children were not. They were an empty shell; grown to a world in which no one accepted them. Even their own mothers and fathers disowned them. In the end many did not need a rope and tree by white men to remove their lives; the teachings were enough and many died at the hands of themselves years later; entrophy was their end. Before we knew it, small strange moving vehicles that people rode from place to place arrived. Not long after, the execution of my fellow trees became wide spread. Path after path, and a poisoning fog occasionally set in along with a sickened rain that wilted my leaves. We trees choked with concern, fearing for our lives. Before long, housing and industry became wide spread. Some how we trees sensed that these buildings and other contraptions were our own brothers taken away to only be destroyed and compressed into something the lighter skinned people deemed more useful; and so it also was for those people of color.

Within my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told?

my last one hundred rings I was overwhelmed with grief. There was a great war; greater than any man at that time had ever experienced. In your neighborhood so many men left, and so many did not walk back. Behind me is a cemetery in which so many men returned in what some call a box.

Not long after, another war even worse than before began. It was so horrific, that the men were gone for so long and most women had to work. People put yellow ribbons around my fellow oaks and took them down when the men returned. Fortunately, while the men were gone, woman proved they could work and make a living in order to survive; this fed the self that starved. When the men did come home; a large celebration took place, however all was not well.

Years later, the very dark skinned people began to have some victories as well as other people of color. I could hear them down the newly paved road, yards from my roots. I overheard one man state that a man named Mr. Brown went to court vs. the Department of Education to fight for his colored daughters right to attend a school in her rightful area. Mr. Brown won and I heard the cheers across many hill sides. Even more as a fire storm, victory set off an exuberating movement. It was not long, and many began to march down your street beneath my branches and scars where years earlier some one was hanged. They would carry signs and chant statements of unity and anger. There was a wonderful sound of hope in their voice. Especially, one man who had a dream. Some one murdered that man as so many before. His dream however did not die with him.

Furthermore, I have seen so much. Each family or person who has moved in this forest turned neighborhood. I have witnessed the circumstances of dividing families, growing children and the death and creation of other families. It never ends, and with this never ending cycle I have witnessed the cycle of not appreciating or loving others. Nature has been ignored. As time moves forward, what will be of me or others? Will those who have been persecuted for so long ever be loved? Today, I see so much hopelessness, so much despair. When even the most vulnerable; woman, children and those veterans who fight your wars are disregarded and homeless! If living is only just for ones self, we are doomed.

In the distance I could hear my mother calling me for dinner. I jumped up, wiped my eyes and brushed off my bottom. “Thank you oak, for your stories, I exclaimed” I reached over and picked up that acorn that hours ago had landed on my head. I found a shallow area near by with room to grow. I planted the acorn in dark soil, and as I covered it I thought of the future, the centuries ahead, and how much I had grown today by listening. What would this acorn say of me, of this time and the scenes it may capture as a big oak? Will others even allow it to grow to tell stories in which must be told? I am unsure. However, I must take action. I must do my part in giving nature a chance at living, and a chance at telling… if others will listen. As I walked up to my porch and into my home I heard a thunderous sound. It was as if the sky was falling; but it was something greater. That great oak had fallen across the nearby highway halting traffic in a jam never known possible. It was as if that mighty oak had finally spoken. He had left his mark in time; he had relinquished his feelings to lay himself down as so many other lives he had witnessed in his timeless existence who had also fallen. The natural process as he knew would finally speak; the great oak could not be restrained. He was as to say; stop your blind progress and know that I exist, that the past exist and the horror must be confessed to prevent the wretched end of others and even yourselves. These are my final words.

Copyright2006/ - Compassionpwr@juno.com

By L. J. Riley Jr.

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