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It stands bent and gnarled now in the entrance courtyard of the famous old temple, witness to more than a thousand years of man’s iniquities and goodness. Withstanding storms, floods and fire it is propped up with stays to help support its aching limbs. The faithful, coming to make devotions to the Buddha have paid homage to its spirit too, lovingly wrapping saffron shawls about it. The old giant’s branches weep as if in compassion for man’s foibles. Different from forest trees, it has witnessed first hand the route of armies and survived. I stay a while at its side.
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Travelogue