There is a tree that stands alone
At the end of a stream
Which empties into a large body of water
Bigger than a pond, smaller than a lake
The tree is a cottonwood
The last of its kind along the stream
Over the years, one by one, a dozen
Leafy companions were uprooted
For one reason or another
Now this last sentinel of the meadow watches over its domain
Slow moving waters pour into the large pond
Water creatures have found life
Birds, squirrels, and insects make their home
In the tree—its branches welcome all life
I used to climb that tree in my fearless childhood
When the dozen other trees marched away along the stream
I would climb the highest—scaring my friends and siblings
I enjoyed the sway and rustle when the wind blew
Upon the landscape
Many dreams and fantasies came and went with those breezes
Many decades have flown by but the tree still stands
And so do I—we’ve weathered the passage of time
We stand alone, but not lonely