The Silence of the Tree
Standing
tall and reaching out for the sky. The Tree’s fingers’ branch out, spiraling at
the tip and ending with tuff, green needles. The crescent mood luminates the
dark brown bark. Shadowing besides the building. It reminds me of math, except
it’s much more pretty.
All except
that one branch. It seemed so distant from the others, ending with pointed
bark. Drooping to the ground it was a fainter tint of brown. I wonder, why do I
have such a connection with this branch? I would study its brown cracks. It was
closer to the dirt than to the sky. Breathing in minerals rather than air. Why
didn’t it have green needles? I would think that it would receive nutrients
first.
Each branch
has a unique pattern. Strange to think about. The bark on the outside has a
code. Each crack holds secrets. To the bugs that eat the bark to the bacteria
that florist the tree. Each branch unique.
But this
branch was arguably “More unique”. Perhaps it was the looks of the branch. The
distance, the bareness, the color. Standing next to the tree breathing is
easier. Deep inhale, loud exhale. I wonder if the tree can feel pain? Does it
feel my touch?
The snow
crackled underneath my furry boots. Fluffy powder painted the sky gray. I began
to cry, for some unknown reason. I just felt so sad, sitting besides the tall
watcher. Watching with it. Trying to understand it, “Hello” I would whisper. I
would hear nothing but a faint rustling of the pines. “Hello” I whispered even
softer.
Silence
I understand
that it speaks in silence. It speaks slowly.
So slow that many forget what has been said. I study the trees bark and
I see sticky sap. Slowly dripping downwards. Does it feel my pain too?
The sun
rises over the mountains. Purple lilacs fill the bathed sky. The tree smells of
a fragranced pine, so sweet I could taste it. “Good morning”, I say to my new
friend. The birds chirp among one another. Dancing on the branches they
bounce. Gliding gleefully to the ground. Magpies have such personality:
Self-centered, self-aware. I whistle to the birds and quickly they whistle
back. So quick is their speech.
But my
friends are not friends with everyone. They are very selective with whom they
trust. And for a good reason. For many don’t appreciate their value. It
whispers “Sad”, as they trudge without stopping to breathe, truly breathe. The
air that the tree provides. So, overlooked are my friends. I give pleading
glances at them walking by, but nothing. Only quick jitters to look away at
everything else more interesting.
The
beautiful branch has drooped lower curling at the end. I try to reach the
branch just to touch it. I wanted to warm its bare bark. Stretching out I
barely missed it. Could it feel my warmth without touch?
I whisper
the softest and slowest hello so that it has time to hear me. Looking over my
shoulder the most beautiful shimmer rests on a pole. The most mystical thing I
have seen. A raven is perched on the flagpole. Its glossy black feather
radiates shimmering glow.
“Beautiful”
I say loudly before covering my mouth afraid I might be mistaken for a
“Trudger”. I slowly lay on the snowy pillow. The tree guides me to a peaceful
sleep. “Goodnight” I whisper.
The wind quietly
whispers a warning
The raven crows a harsh
mourning
Sweet dew lays on the
frozen grass
Encapsulated water
forever glassed
I awake to a
strange sound. A chortling scream. Frantically I awake to see a branch falling
to the ground. I am frozen with the snow, I am afraid. My friend was hurt, and
I was powerless, speechless I watched the Trudgers carry the bare branch into
the trash.
I watch the
tree from a distance afraid to approach it, afraid I might be mistaken. I see
the magpies chirping a demanding screech. I attempt to whistle to them, but
they are afraid of me. “Hello”, I whispered to the tree… nothing…
“Hello” I say a bit louder. I hear the rustling of leaves. I touched the tree,
but it felt stiff. I stand and look at the vertical figure. I heard nothing
from my friend. I walked away slowly, slowly enough so that the tree could tell
me to stop, but it did not. The birds chirped flying from branch to branch.
Swaying pines fragranced the air.
And the tree dripped fresh sap