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  • Writer's pictureRobert M

A Run Through the Oaks

I went to bed late and arose early, consumed with a longing to be among the oaks of Girard; my brain and urgency wouldn't let me sleep. A short drive later, I was met with the usual comfort that being covered by their branches and caressed by their shade brings me. I decided that having a long, slow run through the oaks was the best way to start the day. At the same time, I was running, passing strangers, and nodding to each other, understanding that we were bonded in this moment of being with the oaks. Yet sometimes, they would not meet me eye to eye, and I believed it was due to them being lost in the oaks.

Ducking, dipping, and dodging the sunny spots during my run was made even easier while under the canopy of the oaks. I thought to myself, "Who is luckier than I?" To be loved and shaded by the oaks.

The great oaks of Louisiana and even the South hold a deity-like place in the consciousness of the populous. A constant inspiration to lovers, painters, and writers, the oaks have always made a mark on anyone lucky to have spent time below them. Let us always remember the love the oaks have given to us. Even hapless Prometheus was condemned to eternal torment. Our oaks, though mighty and regal, can suffer for our choices. Are we to eat the liver whole with our greed?

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