I remember the days of horses. Then the clatter of carriages. Next, the cars that filled the air with smoke. 

I’ve been here for a long time, you see. I don’t quite know how long. All I know is that I’ve watched the world grow and change and turn into a different place entirely. Once, the people who took shelter beneath my branches would have run around, kicked a ball, talked, had a picnic. Now, they’re rather quiet. I miss their voices, hearing the latest news and the different viewpoints that would be discussed. Sometimes there are still young people who run around with glee, but they are few in number. Once, the field would have been of with children playing. 

Perhaps there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m just too old to understand or a bygone relic that no longer has a place here. And yet, there are those times when someone will climb into my branches and express their joy through laughter. Times when a couple will kiss in my shadow and smile as they whisper words of love. Times when my shade serves as a welcome reprieve from the sun. 

So yes, I may be old, and yes, maybe I don’t fit in with this world as much as I used to. But I remain. And somehow, I still belong.