Gnarly limbs adorn the twisted trunk of the old flowering crabapple tree, and her show of blossoms is breathtaking. She is like an old grande dame--regal, still gorgeous, even in her waning years.

She bows gracefully to the winds, her delicate scent and snowfall of blossoms promising the fruit she'll bear come autumn. And I rake the dead twigs that skirt her trunk as she sheds, thins out--and accepts her end time. But she still smiles up at the sun, and lives her life, tall, strong ... and holds out her arms to the small birds who need a safe haven. The old crabapple is like a grandmother ... valuable, irreplaceable.

A chainsaw almost stole her life last fall. But circumstance saved the day, and now, I am thankful the tree still stands. As summer wanes, so will her beauty. She will begin to show her age as the chill of the winter blusters her about, and the ice slicks her bark away leaving her scraggly and vulnerable. But the tree will not whine, or cry--she is better than that.

I will watch her stand stoic through the thick and thin of life, and be reminded that strength and tenacity are in unexpected places. And that the grace of age is in all things. If we simply stop to see.