I am an old tree. Sap flows deep within, yet my branches are weary of their own weight.
My brothers topple due to rot and disease. Little by little, I stand alone.
Lord, for which creatures will I provide shelter today? Will a hawk perch lightly on high branches? Spring brings new growth even as I ache.
A human soul, I will walk from here, quickened.
Let me do your work today, Lord.
(Letter #2,410)
