That tree is dead.

It should be taken out.

Cut down.


It mars the landscape.

Is an unsightly distraction from the beauty that surrounds it.


a whisper rises in my spirit.

“Oh, but you’re wrong.

Its towering, leafless branches offer a resting place for all in flight.

A place to perch and gain renewed perspective.

A lookout for all that seek and need provision for the journey.

No, it’s not dead.

Its usefulness remains for all who see its towering presence.

All who have a heart to receive its age-old beauty.

No, it’s not dead.

It still stands.

Stripped of all outward adornment,


closer to heaven than the rest.”

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