Every tree trunk looks like Gettysburg

Lately,
on walks,
I’ve been struck by the quiet violence
endured by trees.
Some slow, lurching force
has boiled up from their hearts,
erupted onto their bark,
leaving cracks.  
Some cracks are deep;
symmetrical.
Others tear unevenly
across the surface.

I yearn to ask:
Did it hurt?

These trunks bear
the battle scars of time – tallied
not as minutes
or years,
but a constellation
of ponderous cracks.