The Birch

The small rain falls down the wood-filled sides of a Birch. Branches protrude like an enraged octopus whose been through the eyes of rigorous battle. Some birds use its foelimbs as a castle for their sweet younglings and a barrier that protects them from the poisonous grass and the fresh movements of the snake. The archaic remains hold together a family of spiders waiting to capture their first decent meal of the day, there are the regular suirrels who use its extremities for play, and the mischivous cat who gets stuck, day after day. When the gleaming rays of the sun rise over the aged, bark covered abode, the young couple lie against and reminise about the glorious times they once shared. The Birch stands alone, creating life, destroying death, and constantly giving.