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