tree

Perspective

I. Tree
A. Spring
1. I am reborn
2. Colors bloom around me
a. Consisting of vibrant hues that only the supernatural are capable of creating.
B. Summer
1. My shade is sought
a. I promise to cool you down
2. I am starving. There has been a drought.
a. Feed me, feed me.
i. You exhale and I inhale
ii. I exhale and you inhale
b. I’d say that’s a fair trade.

C. Fall
1. Orange, red, green, yellow and purple leaves surround me
a. Are those mine?
b. Am I dying?
2. You rake them up
a. Wait, I need those!
b. Will they ever grow back?
3. I watch my brothers and sisters being hacked away at
a. Their screams are inaudible to the human ear, only we trees can hear our siblings’ screams pierce the air.
4. How selfish.
a. how selfish to kill for one’s own comfort at the cost of another’s.

D. Winter
1. My fear has been confirmed.
a. I am dying.
2. Cold, brittle, and dry become I.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps between the crinkled branches. The hills overflowed with green grass swaying with serenity. A small girl with tear-stained cheeks sprawled on her back in the quiet shade the dying willow provided with its dark emerald leaves.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps between the crinkled branches. The hills overflowed with green grass swaying with serenity. A small girl with tear-stained cheeks sprawled on her back in the quiet shade the dying willow provided with its dark emerald leaves.

April laid there more often then not. The soft grass perfectly cushioned her tired back and left tiny smears on her flowy shirt. In the shade of the dilapidated tree, she was more than safe. She was alone.

From all those times when there was no way to spill out all the wrongness, she could escape. From the times she opened her mouth wide and screamed silently so that no one would scare, she could be gone. From every difference, worry, frustration in her life, she could break free.

The tree and the hills and the grass couldn’t heal her issues. Even if they could, April herself would not be healed. But for then, it was enough for her to lay and feel the green.

She doesn't just
hug trees:

she
kisses them
until her lips are
bloody
with their pain.

Her lips speak to them,
trying to weave
weak comfort
into their dying
flesh.

Sometimes they
kiss her
too.
Sometimes
she smiles,
her limbs
becoming
branches.

She watches the tears
seeping out
from the cracks
in their bark,
glowing faintly,
and pulsing
like a million