A Una Encina Verde

...And having been born in the lowlands could have been a rudder and returned to the sea. Could have been a wheel and see the world, be a handle, cradle, or altar. Could have been ash and smoke or could simply not have been born where the oak rules, but there it was born defying the rules, favored by the sun. Closer to the stars. From embracing the ground, to fighting the earth with downpours, filling cracks with boxwoods, thymes, and junipers, avoiding the axe that the master wields lightly..., bitter knots hurt in your wood, green holm oak. May your contours love you, may death respect you. It's good that when the beech reddens and the paths change color, among oak skeletons, you splash the forest's paleness with your green. From embracing the ground, to fighting the earth with downpours, filling cracks with boxwoods, thymes, and junipers, avoiding the axe that the master wields lightly... bitter knots hurt in your wood, green holm oak. May your contours love you, may death respect you.