tiantuatara

You, visitor in my woods, see me laying on my Mother, roots to the sky, and think "dead tree" or "so sad." Let me tell you, you are wrong. The insects that could not live in me when my sap ran have found a home in my dry wood, weave their trails upon my bark. Amidst my roots, covered in clay and dirt, live lizards, safe and warm. Though my branches don't reach as high, nests are still built upon them. My leaves that were, give comfort to the ground, and the seeds of me have been sown on the winds and grow in distant lands. I serve a purpose well beyond my supposed death. When I finally rot and fall apart, I will be the