Witness

Witness Trees. The name alone portends a certain gravitas, even reverence.

Defined as trees "present during a period of historical or cultural significance," these surviving timbers serve as a living reminder of days gone by.

Last week, during a visit to Valley Forge, I discovered such a tree. It was a sycamore, rooted to the bank of a creek, just a mile or so from the headquarters used by George Washington during the famed winter encampment of 1777. 

As I grew near, I gently placed my hand of its distinctive patchwork bark. The trunk was enormous, so large in fact that when I stretched my arms around the bole not even half the tree was in my grasp. The gnarled branches spun out in every direction, like the spokes of a bicycle wheel, topped by a canopy of leaves rustling their quiet greeting.

Stoic observers, these trees are guardians of our past. They have seen what we can only imagine. 

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth." - Herman Hesse