Revisiting The Queen 5 Years On...

I have crossed paths with her a few times these past weeks, and each time I feel the same quiet anticipation. She is the Queen of Fisherfield Forest in Newbury, along the red-blazed trail. Not around a bend, not hidden at the beginning—but on the way down, closer to the end than the start. Exactly where you might expect a Queen to be: waiting, not seeking.

Up close, I see her differently now. They aren’t branches, you see—they are arms. Thick and impossibly long, reaching outward to the trees around her, wrapping them in an embrace that feels both protective and patient. Branches don’t grow like this—spanning such distances, bearing such weight. She is regal and still, weathered and beautiful.

She does not bend, but stands poised, even as one great arm—thirty feet at least, stripped now of bark—hangs on against all expectation. I don’t know how she has borne its weight this long. And yet, she has.

I stand with her. I touch her bark—thick, rippled, filled with character—and marvel. Each time, I find myself not wanting to leave, wanting to stay longer, to listen without words. She teaches without teaching: about endurance and release, about holding on and letting go, about how strength can be quiet and dignity can be rooted.

And so I continue on, grateful for the crossing of our paths—for the reminder that some Queens rule not by movement or command, but by presence alone.

-MVierzen, December 2025