The trunk is mottled with different shades ranging from gray to brown with splotches of missing bark, like little squirrels have been gnawing at it for generations. It has a right arm, but no left. It leans towards the street like a person straining to eavesdrop on a conversation nearby, but not wanting to look too conspicuous. Its leaves cascade down in waterfall patterns sluicing this way and that. Some of the leaves seem to droop with tiredness beaten by the Texas sun, while others still reach for the sky with reaching arms. Mostly, though, the tree looks like I feel--tired and a bit worn for the wear.
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