If the forest has a day of fire and the heat of the flames does not consume a special tree, it will still be changed; charred, but still standing.

I had always been a boy in this place, and many of the trees and rocks and streams had been old men when I knew them. Some had died. All had changed. I knew that. I had changed the most.

Every tree in the forest has a story to tell. Some of them were burnt but they endured the fire and got revived; some of them were cut, their barks injured, some people pick up their leaves to make medicines for their sicknesses, birds used their leaves to make their nests, etc. Upon all these, the tree is still tree!

One of the worst things I’ve learned about getting older is that there seems to be more change that you don’t like than there was when you were younger and you can’t do nothin’ about it.

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, doesn't it just lie there and rot?

I don't think they can see the forest for the trees.