Time, for trees we seem to be racing, for ants we must seem like slow giants. We cling, then hope, we wish away time. Then we want it back. Oh to view time like a tree, watching beings in fast forward speeding by, while standing silent and still. Or do trees feel their aging, like we do? Do trees watch and worry about their offspring, like we do? Do trees fret about decay, like we do? Or are they pure experience, time marching by, seasons coming and fading, rapid succession. don, don, don, The years go by, experience without judgment. The lucky, lucky trees.