Permanent is not Forever
I began as a seed no bigger than a polished pebble. I was implanted into the sparse ground where I was encouraged to sprout and discover my permanent home. #life doesn’t work as easily as all that, I soon found out. Days passed, then weeks, and I was still encased underground. My voice was muffled by the crumbly dirt, hushed by the whipping wind and drowned by thunderous pellets of water that fell from above.
#life continued like this: my voice never being heard, my spirit never being seen. I felt hopeless—lost. However, a day arrived when all this changed. My burden was lifted on a warm and light spring afternoon. The sky held the sun and was scattered with thin white splashes. I felt full—full of water and #life. I felt alive.
At the time, I hadn’t realized what happened, but my thin, frail stem had poked a hole through nature’s floor—I was free. This delighted me, and made me wish I could scream with joy and let the world know that I was here. I had a presence, but I had no voice. I just stood there—still—and felt the wind that I had so often heard. It made me sway from east to west, and I could feel its power. Never in my short-lived #life had I realized a thing could contain so much power. All I could hope for at the time, was that someday I would hold as much.
Days passed, and I embraced my new freedom by standing straight and staring the world in its face. The sights and sounds of nature continued to take my breath away: red rose bushes whose beauty awed me but piercing thorns frightened me, scattered rocks that shimmered in the sun and dulled out with the rain, and a collection of critters that were able to slither, fly, and crawl to different destinations to their hearts content—unlike me. I also learned to be wary of crows, for their beaks could snap my thin stalk in half. I discovered rain is good, when it comes in small amounts, that is.
I grew to love my home above Earth’s ground and below where my roots grounded me. I loved to see nature’s #life unfold as the days went by.
One day, I saw a litter of foxes wandering around with their mother. We were all small, young and innocent. As the baby foxes grew older and bigger, my green trunk grew taller, rounder, darker; I never grew as much or as fast as they did though. By the time I stood a mere three feet tall, these foxes had settled into a #life with their own families. They had young of their own to play with and care for—the sight left me feeling more alone than I had ever felt.
#life continued, and my trunk strengthened. My first set of small green leaves grew from the tips of my new wiry branches. I treated these leaves as my own young, praising their growth and mourning when one would slip away from my hold.
I recall the first fall I experienced with my trifling leaves. The days mystically grew colder and the nights longer. My leaves began to lose their warm shade of green and wound into a cripple. One frigid, windy day, a couple of them were torn away from me and never seen again. During the following days, the remaining ones were stripped away from my warm tug. This fall season left me emotionally drained, ill and alone. Soon, the frost would settle in, and I would shiver at night. I fell into a haze, leaving that block of time all muffled upon reflection.
I came to after the ice had melted, strong green slivers of grass were sprouting through the wilting snow. Before I knew it, I had a new set of green leaves to look after—this time I knew they would leave me once the cold season returned, so I prepared myself the best I could by not naming them and keeping our interaction to a minimum. I tried to distance myself from them. Even with this preparation, losing my leaves each fall had a big toll on me. I will never forget the special ones that slipped through my distancing act and had become one with my spirit before they were ripped away by the wind’s control.
Many falls passed, and I was now standing at a massive height of nine feet. I had no worries of any crows pecking at me anymore. Now I was just a perch for them to sit upon and rest as they would tell me stories of their travels. One told me how every fall he flew to a land where trees never lost any leaves—I stared at him in envy. I wished I could fly away with my dear leaves to save them from the unfriendly weather, but alas I could not. I was permanently stuck here in this mixed emotion of seasons as my trunk got wider and my branches spread farther.
I now stood at a tall twelve feet. I was getting to know my new set of leaves when I noticed something peculiar. In a field across from where I stood, I saw people who were at work building something. Their description matched the one the crows had told me of people: short, furless, and dressed with odd colors.
Weeks passed and these people had built a house. Their land slowly became more and more personal; children’s toys littered the yard along with new types of flowers that I had never seen before.
Fall returned, and my leaves disappeared again. However, this time, two young people came in the afternoons and gave me company. They would sit against my trunk and talk to each other about odd things, such as people called bullies and their dreams of going to Disney. Most of what they said made no sense to me, but having company brightened my spirits.
One summer morning, the kids came running out my way excitedly. My full-grown leaves rustled in the wind as I listened to what had gotten them so excited. What I heard made my heart drop. They were talking about a club-house made out of a tree. I was that tree. They said their dad would cut me down during the weekend and turn me into the club-house of their dreams. My leaves shuddered with me as I thought of not standing in my spot where I had been for an uncountable number of years. I stood at a strong fifteen feet with a wide rough trunk. I have always been unmovable in my thoughts—if the crows couldn’t snap me and the wind couldn’t knock me down, what could?
Saturday has come. I watch the sun rise and the dew dry up. My leaves reach up towards the sun’s warmth. Crows and foxes gather around me—we share each other’s company like it could be our last visit. At noon, the children’s father walks out carrying this most unusual sword. He approaches me and looks at me thoughtfully before cranking up his sword into a violent rumble—it seems more powerful than the wind and what I have become. The foxes and crows run away—I wouldn’t ask them to stay. I still don’t believe this is possible. Aren’t I permanent now? I’m not a seed or a weak sapling that can just get plucked away. I’m a fully grown tree that has settled into a #life on this land.
The man places his sword to my side. I feel my world shake as I realize this might actually happen and perform something unforgivable on me. At least I am going down with my leaves and the warmth from summer, as everything I have learned to know comes to an end.
