Standing, Stretching, Hoping, Reaching

December 14, 2011
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Standing, Stretching, Hoping, Reaching
Oh wonder of life, the tree. See how It stands, fooling us into the doubtless notion that
It is too late, that It is already dead.
Listen closely, though, for the undying heartbeat of the tree. It is not dead.
This small tree is very much alive.
* * *
Shrouded by the thick covering of the night, as the other trees sleep and dream,
This tree grows endlessly,
Reaching for the stars,
Hoping that one day it may join them and be beautiful.
It reaches into the endless and unknown darkness.
Eventually, though, the tree gets tired,
And, seeing that Its attempts have failed,
The tree gives up.
* * *
Vastly high above the small tree in the crowded forest,
A single star twinkles brighter than ever, then vanishes from the night sky,
Never to return.
* * *
As the darkness of the night subsides, the stars leave the sight of the tree.
The leftover droplets of the gloom remain in the damp air,
Forming dew-drops that find their homes on the few, small leaves of
The sad, cold, and dying tree.
These dew-drops are different, though,
They seem…
Almost alive…
And, as the Sun rises,
They are transformed,
And the tree is reborn.
* * *
Seemingly dusted with millions of diamonds,
Every one of Its now innumerable leaves,
Brighter than the star that had humbly sent its own dew down to the poor tree.
* * *
Now, though, the Sun is too strong, and
The droplets of dew are drying up.
The tree attempts to hold on, but with no avail.
The tree, having tasted success, does not give up.
It grows and stretches,
Bends and reaches,
For the sun that once made it radiate
Brighter than the stars.
* * *
This tree produces the most delicious and beautiful of all fruits.
This tree now stands high above all other trees, automatically dominating the forest.
This tree now shines,
Brighter than anything,
In the now humbled sunlight of every morning.
But the branches of this poor tree have grown old and tired
From the effort that was put into its desperate growing and reaching,
And, realizing that it has still not reached the stars,
The tree gives into the death that has been restlessly hacking away at its weathered trunk.
* * *
As the tree falls, slowly, to the now clear ground that his brothers used to occupy,
He wonders why the selfish stars have forgotten all about the
Small sad tree,
And why there are so few of them left,
Barely twinkling in the cold night sky.

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