As a child I climbed an Oak tree in our yard. It came to represent that time of my life. It protected me, gave me escape, perspective, leaves for fires, acorns to bury and grow, tiny cups for tea parties. It told the story of passing years, it’s lime green new leaves like a thousand tree frogs against dark bark, it’s dried leaves littering the garden, raked in huge piles, rustling, burning, heralding winter.