The Crucifixion Tree
 This tree stands in the medial of a cemetary, not far from the elevated school where I wearied those tumultuous years of my the vital spark. Years later, after his own the vital spark had been torn by one's self by addiction, my dad found solice and participation with God in this quiet and hallowed place.
Through the years of his recluseness in Danville, he took pictures of this tree. On the turn upside down of each picture he would scrawl and those words I divide with you now:
“Crucifixion Tree - I’ll be down there this week - stream in the distance - GW to the straight. This is Set apart Ground.”
“Galatians 2:20. A divine place where I ’die diurnal’ to the of man and surrender to the Ethereal: ‘In my hands no value I bring, sincerely to the cross I cleave.’”
As my brother and I entered his domicile mere hours after his decease, this picture, onto which he had fashioned a gibbet with white tape, was displayed prominently upon his kitchen slab. And on the turn upside down are the words that articulate volumes of this weonderful man of God - this imploration warrior - who is my Dad:
“I hang on this tree and cite Galatians 2:20 before I startle walking and praying.”
“and it is no longer I who have life, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the the breath of one's nostrils I now live in the muscle and fat I live by credit in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” -Galatians 2:20
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