There is a tree. A calm ethereal entity. It is infused with a bluish white light that emanates to its surroundings. Motes of light float among its upper branches. There is no wind. The tree is still. There seems to be a barely perceived noise. A high pitched hum which surrounds it. It's trunk is wide and firmly rooted to the ground. Although it is made up of light, I know the tree is strong. I've heard that when a person draws a tree it is really a self-portrait. I learned this when someone commented on the drawing of a tree I had made. They said that the branches did not extend very far, and that meant I was withdrawn. There was a hole in the tree, and they said it meant I was wounded. This tree is different. It is not the tree that I drew. This is the tree that has always been.