after a storm

After The Storm   Now that the spring tempest is over and the ground is littered with twigs and juicy, green leaves flung off mother tree long before they should, it gladdens the woods that the old oak still stands although it is almost hollow inside and is home to a family of foxes, myriads of insects, and a 40 years old bachelor hawk.    It is the oldest wild tree around; there is an older one though an olive tree that still remembers when Roman soldiers marched through here and the young centurion who rested in its shadow, fell asleep and dreamt of becoming a new Cesar. Whether he made it or not the olive has no way of knowing. The reason other trees were glad the oak endure is that that its presence gives them the hope of longevity