RIP old friend

translator


Afrikaans
Albanian - shqipe
Arabic - ‎‫العربية‬‎
Armenian - Հայերէն
Azerbaijani - azərbaycanca
Basque - euskara
Belarusian - беларуская
Bengali - বাংলা
Bulgarian - български
Catalan - català
Chinese - 中文（简体中文）
Chinese - 中文 (繁體中文)
Croatian - hrvatski
Czech - čeština
Danish - dansk
Dutch - Nederlands
English
Esperanto - esperanto
Estonian - eesti
Filipino
Finnish - suomi
French - français
Galician - galego
Georgian - ქართული
German - Deutsch
Greek - Ελληνικά
Gujarati - ગુજરાતી
Haitian Creole - kreyòl ayisyen
Hebrew - ‎‫עברית‬‎
Hindi - हिन्दी
Hungarian - magyar
Icelandic - íslenska
Indonesian - Bahasa Indonesia
Irish - Gaeilge
Italian - italiano
Japanese - 日本語
Kannada - ಕನ್ನಡ
Korean - 한국어
Latin - Lingua Latina
Latvian - latviešu
Lithuanian - lietuvių
Macedonian - македонски
Malay - Bahasa Melayu
Maltese - Malti
Norwegian - norsk
Persian - ‎‫فارسی‬‎
Polish - polski
Portuguese - português
Romanian - română
Russian - русский
Serbian - Српски
Slovak - slovenčina
Slovenian - slovenščina
Spanish - español
Swahili - Kiswahili
Swedish - svenska
Tamil - தமிழ்
Telugu - తెలుగు
Thai - ไทย
Turkish - Türkçe
Ukrainian - українська
Urdu - ‎‫اردو‬‎
Vietnamese - Tiếng Việt
Welsh - Cymraeg
Yiddish - יידיש




Double-click

Select to translate
The Green Oak was a sapling approximately 800 years ago. It was the last tree standing in a once-forest that was cut down to provide the wood that built the town.

The Green Oak kept on growing alone on the edge of the town, a witness to eight centuries of comings and goings and the reference point at the end of my street.

The wind got the better and the Green Oak fell this evening.  

A muted, reverential crowd assembled around the body.  They took photos but they also took sprigs from the branches and carried them home.  No one knew what to do with them but everyone knew why they had to keep a little bit of the Green Oak.