Location Taken: Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming
Time Taken: October 2012
I have been informed by people who shall go nameless (*cough*Dad*cough*) that yesterday’s post was not dignified.
I shall have to remedy that, and make today’s post as dignified as possible.
*sips tea with my pinky finger out*
This, ladies and gentlemen, is a rock.
Not just any rock, but one with a tree on it.
Said tree is, in fact, growing out of said rock.
*sips tea again, puts on monocle*
Imagine, for a moment, what this tree must go through. It lives, on a rock, in the middle of a river, in the middle of a volcanic caldera. And yet, it is neither watered by the river nor warmed by the volcano. Both are too far below it for it to feel the effects of either.
Instead, this tree must survive on the scraps of firmament blown onto the rock by the wind, held in place by the spare scraps of grass that share this tiny island. It is watered by whatever the sky deigns to gift it, and is covered by snow for the long, hard winters in Yellowstone National Park.
But all is not dismal doings for this small specimen of treehood. It sits far above the ground, with no easy access routes for elk to come and partake of its needles, nor can the male elks scratch their antlers against its bark. That is the downfall of many of this tree’s cousins. And the rock, while it keeps the tree far above the river, does hold onto any scrap of water that falls on the basin the tree grows in, a much larger bounty collected from each rainfall. And, of course, the wide river itself prevents any other tree to grow close enough to block the sun’s rays from reaching this fine tree.
It is also set apart, unique and fascinating for its isolation. If it chanced to fall on the riverbank, it would merely be one tree amongst many, and not worth speaking of. In its loneliness, it has found fame.
*sips tea*
*chokes*
*cough* *cough* *cough*
Ok, enough of that. It’s tough wearing a monocle over my glasses anyway.
