One tree in Richmond park

I am sitting under one tree. A picnic blanket and a grab bag full of Kettle Crisps.

One tree. But how many lives? One tree. But how many years?

How can one tree provide so much safety?

For the girl writing in her notebook- her bible- feeling blissfully alone.

For the runner hopelessly out of breath and in need of a rest.

For the angry teenage boy running away from his drunk and violent parents.

Or for the birds who have flown south for the winter.

Its seen a million couples in the honeymoon phase so young in Love

those who experience fresh and raw heartache 

This is the same tree that shelters the old man after he has watched his wife pass away. I watch him feed the ducks who swim- peacefully animated on top of the lake.

One tree. But how many lives? One tree? How many secrets?