Treehouse

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She laid her head back on the floor of the tree house and looked up through the “skylight”- really, it was just a hole in the ceiling. “How can they want to get rid of this? We need this,” She exclaimed.

Her best friend sighed, “Yeah, we do. For paper, and to heat our homes. It’s a resource.”

“A resource? No, don’t you see what is lost when they cut down this tree? This tree gives us oxygen. We need THAT to live. Not paper!

“This tree is a haven. It’s a place to just get away and remember that at the end of the day, we- as in the, the humans who think we’re so fantastic- are part of nature, too. Opposable thumbs do not make us superior.”

“Maybe you should have just been born a tree,” Her friend suggested, all sarcasm.

“Maybe I should have,” She countered, all seriousness. She was starting to actually believe it. She had built this tree house with her own hands. Before that, she had almost forgotten what it was like to be so close to nature.

And now? Now all she wanted was nature. To be simple and contribute to the ecosystem- instead of take, take, take. The more she thought about it, the more appealing the idea of being a tree became to her. She could be content to spend her days swaying in the wind. It was better than the same one felt in being part of such an indulgent, entitled species as humans.





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