Ancient Oak Its dying came so slowly, no one noticed until one day the thin old roots released their fingers on the rain-soft ground and without warning, did what the old and tired do, sought a place to rest. It was only half a tree anyway, part of it broken away ages ago, but no one expected it to go as it did, the sides splitting into pieces like broken ribs protruding from the top of a dirt brown frock. Sprawled on the side of the street for nearly a week before carried away, it lay like a broken headstone beside an open grave, the rich brown earth surrounding the gaping hole, like soft garden soil ready for spring planting.
Margaret B. Hayes
10