I thrive when I’m living just a little bit on the edge, where the ground is a little less stable. I put up defenses to surround me, knees of jutting barriers to provide stability and protection. I’m old and hearty, a bit misshapen, but strong. Long, gray, unruly strands fall from me. I am not beautiful, and yet somehow I am. I sometimes look as though I stand alone, but I am an integral part of the many lives that count on me to play a part in their ability to develop, grow, and flourish. — Cypress tree
Today’s challenge was to describe myself as a tree. Of course, the Louisiana swamp cypress is what I chose to depict. I find this tree fascinating. It’s out of the ordinary. Its affinity for living in environments that might kill most trees is part of its intrigue. The knobby knees that often surround it, the Spanish moss that usually drapes it, the odd, wide base, and the tall, thin trunk that rarely grows straight; these all feel like aspects of myself.
Cypress trees are havens for wildlife, providing nesting areas at the top for bald eagles, a place for Spanish moss to grow, a spawning ground for catfish, home base to egrets and herons, and seeds that nourish all types of creatures such as ducks and squirrels.
The wood is both strong and beautiful, as useful for building weather-resistant structures as for creating delicate art.
If I were a tree, I think I would be a cypress.