The golden bark reflected the dawn. Every branch twisted and knurled in its own fashion. If you were to look upon it from the distance, where it sits on that mountainous cliff side, you would probably have said that it was beautiful, but for those of us standing near, the tree is no longer beautiful. A faded twine roped around one of the tallest branches is the only reminder of the crimes that were committed here. Reminisce of the Neuse’s that once hung from these branches. How many people? How many lives were snuffed out by this tree? All those lives, and I only care about one: Mine.
February 28, 2011