An isolated old oak tree stands tall atop a ridge on Eighty Acres. In the winter breeze she stretches her arms upward and gently sways them back and forth as she listens to some ancient rhythm of the land. Her day is done, but and there is no one near to see her smile. No one to share her day's stories. No one to touch. Just a faceless silhouette on Eighty Acres, slow dancing in the sunset.