On the southern slope of a towering mountain, halfway up the hillside, stood an old oak tree, its trunk strong and sturdy. Those who knew of it had always wondered how old it was, but no one could say for sure. According to the elderly, when they were our age, they often played and rested in its shade. Even then, it looked much as it does now, with a trunk just as wide. Four or five children holding hands couldn't encircle it.
Time flew by, and the children of those days were now in their sixties. When they looked back at the old tree, it was still the same, just as thick and strong as ever. The only difference was that its branches had grown somewhat sparse, and its leaves had become thin and withered. Yet it still seemed full of life, like a kindly old man holding up a giant umbrella to offer people shade and shield them from the glaring sun. What stories will unfold beneath this old tree?
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