fifty years ago.  It was only than that I was able to fully take root and spread my limbs.

     Just fifty one years old when she died, I was still spindly; a result of being carefully sheltered for so long.  I spent many of those blustery early spring days without her swaying in the unsympathetic winds, trying not to tumble myself. Once the cold spring rains gave in to the scorching summer heat, I was able to really take hold.  I grew stronger that summer than ever before.  Now, standing one hundred and sixteen feet tall with a girth of almost twenty two feet I have out lived every one of my other seedlings … I have become the mightiest oak on this mountain, with many seedlings of my own.  It is with great sadness that I must witness the butchers … one by one taking them all…

     Every day, in the name of progress the butchers come closer and closer with their big saws and acrid fire.  Their sights set on me. Without a care, they destructively cut and burn to make a road up this mountain.  Everyone who stands in their way are loaded onto trucks and carried away … to where I do not know…It is with fear and dread that I wonder what will become of them, … and of me.  What will become of this mountain when we are all gone? When there is no one left to embrace it … what too will become of the butchers when the smoke and the cinders die?  Where will they go? What will happen to their seeds when there is nothing left to butcher?