It is a semi-autobiographical story of a tree's view of life
| I am a tree - not very spectacular buy any means - but a tree among other trees in the woods. We don't get together much, though when a big storm omes up, their branches will intertwine with mine and after the storm stops they lean back and balance on their own.
I have wide strong branches. There is a bird nest on the branch next to my ear. The mother has trained the young ones to fly and I watch as they swoop and glide, remembering their their first struggles and I would hold out my branches to catch them.
My fruit is small, but it is plentiful. Children climb up and gather it because it is just the right size to throw at birds, squirrels, cars, and each other. While squirrels either eat them or bury them in the ground and store them for winter.
People picnic in my shade and are also protected from the sudden rainstorms as they arise. Yet any tree would agree that not one of us can offer one hundred percent protection.
My trunk is firm and sturdy except where the bark has been peeled away and two hearts carved in. One reads "Jimmy and Sarah-lovers forever." Three days later they had a fight and broke up. Jimmy is now a social worker on Skid Row. Sarah is a missionary in Bogota. On the other heart the inscription reads "Steve and
Ellen." They both disappeared a year later with no trace. Their friends and classmates have moved away now, but I can't help seeing what has become a part of me.
My roots cover a large area, but here and there an occasional part rises above the surface and splits due to varying changes in climate. sometimes it's a lawn mower or a playful soul with a pocket knife.
The woodcutters came todayand started tapping around the trunks of the trees. When they came to me, they stopped and said "Looks good, real good." Then after tapping for a few minutes, they shook their heads and said "Sounds hollow or rotten inside. Let's move on." And they did.
They moved to the next tree and tapped it, nodded their heads, and soon it was clinging in my branches. Soon it was reduced to bare logs and a pile of brush.
That night there was a violent windstorm. The next tree over began swaying back and forth until its branches started to touch mine. Suddenly there was a loud crack and a rustling murmur as the winds ceased. And the tree remained leaning against my branches.
I am a tree. I am...
(If a tree falls in a forest, and there is no one there to hear it, does it still make a noise?)