The Tree
It was born of the wafting of winds of the air; a storm
brought it to its final home. Slowly it
drifted down to the ground, as the heat of the sun radiated of the black
earth. Then it burrowed into the earth,
slowly pushing its fingers into the ground, touching life, feeling power, and
the cold relief of water in its roots. It sat there for a bit, swaddled in the
loving embrace of its parents, the journey had been long and perilous, and its
desperate plunge into the soil had consumed much of its energy.
It rested for a long time, time did not have much meaning to
the young seed, all it knew was that it was safe. Safe and then a pain, and
then its covering broke, and it felt the pain of birth for the first time. Its roots expanded, and grew bigger then they
have ever felt before, it now felt the urge to dig out of the cold earth and
touch the sun for first time ever. The roots grabbed water and food all in a
sudden chronic need to break the surface, and take its first breath of air
ever. It took time, rocks covered it, other plants tried to choke it, but in
time it forced its leaves into the air for the first time and breathed a deep
breath of air, a breath of relief after being trapped for so long underground
it was free.
It’s leaves caught the sunlight, drinking in spherules of
energy, and pushing it deep into its teenage body. The body grew and grew as
the months wound on, until the cold of winter touched it. It was a new experience for the tree, and yet
bound up in its very being it had met this particular enemy before, and knew
how to deal with its embrace. It shed its leaves, the teenager growing to
adult, losing all it had gained since the first growth, it’s roots burrowed
deep, and slowly the tree slept, until the winter had passed, and once more it
spread its leaves toward to the air, once more it tried to grow to touch the
sky. It grew and grew through the season, until it once more encountered the
winter, now it did not feel the fear it felt before, and let the leaves fall
without a struggle.
It grew and grew, until it passed from its teenage years to
its adult. It now had many holes in it, from the creatures which made their
home in its foliage. They huddled in it to shelter against the arctic blasts of
the north, and so the tree now was a kind of mother itself to other life. The adopted children at times helped it, and
other times hindered it, yet still the tree sheltered them all. It’s longing
grew for children of its own despite its adopted children.
The longing grew and grew over the months, until one happy
day it sprouted flowers from its leaves, and from these flowers came her children
in the pollen borne within them. Some of its adopted children took her real
children far away from her, some the air took as she had been taken from her
parents. She birthed many more children as the seasons passed, some of them
lived some died, yet never did she know their story.
There came a time when the tree had grown large and strong,
there was a time it had children, there was a time when the winter first
touched her. The time passed, her adopted children came for her first, eating
her insides, then the sky turned against her, and the lightning blasted her.
The great fire came next, and then burned her wooden bones. Slowly she breathed her last, and ground rose
up around her, and took the tree into the place it had begun its journey. No
bards sung of her, no children grieved her, but the tree had lived its life
well and perhaps that was enough.
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