"Five hundred trees stand in a row,
over the years in the sleet and the snow.
The longer they stand, the older they grow.
The five hundred trees that stand in a row."
I wrote this short poem when I was in elementary school and for some reason, I've never forgotten the verses. I mention it now as Christmas fast approaches and trees, both real and fake, stand tall in family rooms and foyers, delightfully adorned with bulbs, tinsel, and enough lights to create an airstrip for a small plane to land on.
And while I appreciate all of the traditions associated with the Christmas tree, my soul finds its strength in the trees adorned not with decorations but with bird nests, squirrels, and the like - in the five hundred trees that stand in a row.
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