My favorite tree is at the edge of a hay field by our house. Its personality changes with the seasons but superficially, like hairstyles on humans. It is tall and grandiose, seeming to own the sky even without its full head of leaves. Thirty feet away is the dying etch of another tree, a single branch cocked crookedly at the sky in a curse or plea. Vines totally engulf its trunk, seemingly intent on pulling down this last arm to silence it for all time. In the process they pull down their own support and lose their one advantage over the surface bound weeds. Self destruction through short term gratification. Like the lemon pudding colored slugs who slowly crawl out onto the busy road to feast on smashed remains of lemon pudding colored slugs who had slowly crawled out onto the busy road to feast on smashed remains of lemon pudding colored...
...it's turtles all the way down.
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