kindling
This tree has fallen, it has been sent to the mill, and forgotten. There was a time that has tried to become lost, but it haunts on the winds that blow. A strong sturdy tree that stood, it would try to protect you from these gusts and gales. You can withstand it as if it were a breeze in the leaves. This tree would still stand to protect you from these storms, as it meant it's own breaking. After the fall, still strong yet drying up. I would make something out of these timbers, yet the tools appear to be lost, or perhaps put away and left to rust. This tree will be left aside through time until all there is are splinters for kindling. Could the seed have blown into another field alone to embrace every breath through the leaves.