Oxford. Ever present, ever swaying. Breathing in the wind with a quiet disposition. I anticipate the day that this great oak tree in my backyard will tip over, groaning as its beautiful head falls to the ground. Surrounded by lush grass in the summer and crisp, dying grass in the winter, Oxford remains the strongest tree I've ever seen. Leaves ruffled by the wind high up in the clouds. The rough, aged skin of him shows battle scars from birdhouses and climbing and lost limbs from storms. I smile up at Oxford and admire his tenacity. On the world. On his ability to grow and live despite the doubt. I admire the birds who have taken pride and trust in the shelter of his branches and the shade of his plumage. He bows to none but the wind, but even this is only a courtesy, showing his humility in the face of those weaker than him. He is beautiful. Oxford the Strong. Oxford the Great. Oxford the Tree.