Twisted Elegance

The scenery flies past the window, land and sky flow together and all becomes vague. A vibrant flower’s color is nothing but a meaningless speck among the trees and grass. The speed distracts me, life enthralls me, and I am lulled into fruitless wanderings.

A trail of blue fades under the asphalt then continues undeterred on the other side. Time stills, the road stretches, my eyes are drawn to the trees stretching their limbs to the beauty of the day’s end. Their green leaves have started to turn to the vibrant colors that come before their death. But instead of sorrow, these trees undulate in the wind creating a joyful dance of death and rebirth. Their leaves rustle a song of the ones before, and the ones yet to come. Their roots are deep, their existence is solid.

Instead of tall, it bends. Instead of branches reaching for the future, they hover above the river. Instead of leaves that rustle in the pleasure of having lived, they strive to dip into the fountain that may sustain their life. Its roots are imbedded far from the nourishment, it strives to drink through its actions. It desires immortality.

Frightful whispers ripple through the air, the tone varies from sweet to self-pitying. The tree resolves the rest of its existence to curry favor of the river. Begging it for the life that it brings to the tall and strong. It yearns to merge the sap running through its veins with the water that flows below with such serenity.

The river cannot give such help, it flows on without the barest whisper of pity. The yellow leaves clinging so desperately to their host begin to shake in fury. They strive to catch every wayward breeze until the entire tree shakes with such intensity that the leaves fly through the air in a deranged waltz.

Skeletal fingers reach into the cold sky, the air paints them with exquisite crystals that glint in the moonlight. Tiny diamonds lay scattered over the ground, concealing the sleeping grass and the frozen river. The bowed timber shakes off the crystals, wanting only beauty that it can acquire for itself. Its branches litter the ground around it as it refuses nature’s garment.

When the orb of day rises, it shines muted by a veil of clouds. The heat of the morning burns the clouds away and makes the diamonds succumb their coldness in the warmth. The ice releases the river, revealing one brown leaf curled upon itself.

The river bubbles along happily, below ground the tall wood plants drink deeply through their roots. Purple flowers adorn the riverside, and butterflies caper about ecstatically. The beautiful trees rustle in their new adornments, a gentle harmony to the river’s song. And the bitter tree still desires a drink, so it tilts its tiny leaves toward the rushing water, ever so painfully once again pursuing that one sip that will grant eternal life.

A jolt rips through me, time grabs hold once again. I look internally and paint the tree in vividness upon my memory. Refusing to pretend I was blind.