A Pine Divinity

Old bark is formed as a book. Tiny memories scatter between the rough surfaces. Time moves in between the crevices of the elder trees. Thousands litter the land as far as the eye can see. The Deep South has a way of trapping you and freeing you all in one glance. It is quite mesmerizing, the way the late summer sun sprinkles over the tree trunks. The thin, green branches dance with excitement as the darkness unfolds and a rare July breeze circles throughout the forrest. The trees watch as time comes and then must bid a somber goodbye. They are all-knowing, carefully protecting and watching life unravel before them. For those lives who are almost forgotten, lives of simplicity and old antebellum charm, the pines are called home.