He is a lonely boy. Dark thoughts with little to relate to. A cold and bitter childhood has taken its toll. Lost, he is constantly searching for something. Where though? Daylight strikes and the boy is absent, has been for years now. He stirs silently in the night. The open fields of Kansas roll on forever, a vast ocean of corn and wheat. Prowling the fields as the sun slowly falls like the first tear of a painful goodbye, the boy searches for what he cannot find.

The flat plains are leveled to perfection like a foundation layer of bricks. Emptiness. One open plain has been unused for years due to infertile soil and an abundance of cumbersome crows. As dreadful as hell itself to any farmer. But in the midst of this wasteland grows a colossal tree with wide-reaching branches and a fertile set of vibrant leaves. It looks so out of place, the tree in the meadow, where did it come from?

The boy has made it is home, his one and only thing to hold on to. The lush array of leaves and branches refutes the light of progress. Cold and dark, the trunk is never seen. The last sighting of the boy was almost 2 months ago now. His nightly stirs have gone unseen, and his quiet whispers have impeded. Has he found his home, or has he found what he is truly looking for?