The tree doesn’t worry that it’s naked, that its bark is deeply lined with age and scarred from life’s abuse. Come its morning it’ll put on a fresh green cloak, shake its hair in the breeze, loosen its limbs in the warming sun and welcome the world with outstretched arms.
In the same field, is this tractor. It still potters about doing what tractors do. I know because I’ve seen it in different parts of the field on different days. On this day I saw it posing proudly in front of the tree, head held high, not a care for its looks or age and content with what it is, a tractor doing tractor things.