The ancient tree grows up in the middle of the road,
its wide trunk rising, curved and twisted
out of the irregular cobble stones.
Occasionally a car must wait
beneath its broad boughs
in the shade of its forty-foot height
for an oncoming vehicle to pass.
This is done with great patience and care,
never a sign upon its rugged, gray bark
of etiquette violated.

Up the road,
up the hill towards the center
there was a spring where animals drank,
cows and horses and dogs,
which after many years of faithful service
ran dry,
remembered now only in the name of the road,
Pila Seca, "Dry Spring".

As the town grew so did the road,
extending down to the tree, already old by that time,
widening around it when the rounded cobbles came.

In this hot, dry land trees are valued,
some yet-pagan influence breaking through catholic edifice,
life rooted in a deeper soil
standing in the way of the traffic.

- Dr David, Editor/Publisher Lokkal