If I had a second life and it could be anything, I would be a tree. No kidding. I would want to be one of those sycamores you see along the banks of creeks. In fact, there is a specific sycamore I would want to be. Unfortunately I do not have a photo of the exact tree, but I can recall every detail. It is in the country near where I live. It is majestic and obviously really old. Its roots grasp the bank of the creek and its canopy umbrellas both the road and the creek. Its branches arch gracefully into the sky and creatures live all over her. Squirrels and birds nest in her branches and insects burrow into her bark. Holes in her trunk house owls and foxes. She harbors life and is connected in a most intimate way with the entire cycle of nature. Her arms support life and her roots recycle the dead. The knots and fissures on her body are the map of her existence and she has witnessed generation after generation come and go. She has seen the fury of floods, the agony of drought, and the icy grip of winter. Her branches toss and bend with the current of the wind but she remains rooted; a sentinel of the ages. I would like to be a tree.