At the end of the land on the peninsula where I live, stands this lonely tree. Someone put a flag pole up next to it, presumably to hang a flag but never did. There's nothing out here. No wires. No electricity. No machines. No cars. You have to come on foot to get here. The wind is relentless and has shaped the tree almost like one you would find in a Japanese garden, but perhaps not quite as graceful. The rain pounds mercilessly too, and I can't understand how that tree is still standing. But there it is, growing where nothing else but a bit of brush and weeds will grow. I come and look at it often; I don't know why. I imagine that if it could talk, it would say, "How am I possible?" Rather smugly, I might add.