Appearing wraith like from the morning mists upon the mountain, I sit and share the serenity of death with this ancient denizen.
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Moving stiffly against the updrafts of moisture laden air, this oak resists rather than bends to the unseen forces.
Around its feet lie shattered branches, a testament to the last storm that winnowed the frail and fragile in this lofty place.
Already though the borers and fungi are returning the once mighty oak to its source, the cradle of all life here.
Now, the mists close softly around its silvan carcass and seemingly remove it from the landscape in a gentle embrace of ephemeral gossamer clouds.
Photo: Cork oak upon the mountain. Courtesy of the author.
