There is something peaceful about being nameless, faceless, unknown. Something calming; something beautiful.

In a coat of protective bark, sturdy and safe, I sing my song through my rustling leaves. I feel connected to those around me, similar yet unique as our roots hug each other, guiding each other to the heavenly taste of water amongst the warmth and comfort of the bedded soil beneath us.

The way my branch twists and contorts like a bolt of lightening differs from my neighbours, my friends, my strangers. Yet our shared desires for the divine sunlight give us a sense of belonging.

In the depths of such forests, one may not expect much life to exist. Yet the tickling of the moss and ivy decorating my being, and the chirping of the chicks that nest amongst my arms, give me a sense of duty and purpose. Though quiet, never silent.

I enjoy the idea that whilst I stand my ground for hundreds of years, watching each summer, autumn, winter and spring pass, I am not noticed by the eyes of any that will give me identity. I enjoy the anonymity of my existence.

Time, in my life, is something to be cherished and cared for. She cradles herself in my growth rings, and keeps me tranquil in her circle of life as I watch my leaves drop and grow once more.

I am forever greatful for my harmonious life. I wish to always remain, and yet remain a secret.