The holly tree had to be a good foot and half taller since her planting, spreading her roots wide in the earth. It was the early autumn and so her green berries had their first blush of red. After the poor start she had, the way she arrived in the garden bare rooted and parched, that she lived at all was miracle enough.
The holly with her spiky-punk leaves, was my stalward companion in all weathers, from draughts to ice storms - a steady evergreen when the world was bare.
The holly tree was deepest green in the sweetly gentle early daylight. She had a shine to her that was as glossy as any magazine cover, and she stood there tall and strong in any weather, come what may.
The holly tree grows taller in the steady light of day, never so much that any one could see, yet the evidence is clear enough year on year.
In the woodland dwells the holly tree. She grows there with leaves of deepest green awaiting the autumn and winter months, when she is adorned with bright gay berries.
The holly tree is about two centuries old and will continue to grow onward for another century or so. She grows with such graceful ease, as if content to walk while others run.
The holly tree is the art of practical beauty, a sculpture of nature that can defend herself.