Thinking about trees

I am dwarfed by the massive trunk. If I spread my arms wide, they don’t come near to reaching across it, let alone around it. This old forest giant’s diameter is well over two metres. Probably approaching three. Its girth would be over six metres. I look up and sixty metres or so above me the trunk is broken. Younger branches reach skyward from the sides of the break. Each branch would be more than twice as thick as my body and they stretch tens of metres further upwards from the huge hollow formed where the original trunk broke.

I wonder what lives in that hollow. I’m sure something would. A possum perhaps, curled up asleep as I walk past of a cool, grey morning, its night-time foraging done, its place of safety assured high above ground level.