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It is a pity to leave our childhood in a corner of our minds covered with the dust of oblivion. Let’s play; let’s not forget to play. We have no balls, but we have words; we have no grits, though we have thoughts; we have no cars, yet we have questions; we have no dolls, but we just have answers! |
But do we really have answers?
When I have a tooth-ache, I see a dentist; when my heart hurts, well… I see another doctor. What shall I do when my tree aches?
The two of us, My Tree and I, breathe the same air. Moreover, my Tree takes care of my air, to be clean and fresh and breathable. What do I do for its air? It fights for me and my health; it is the first line defender of Mother Nature and of our lives, despite our selfish deeds.
Am I able to do the same like my Tree does? Are YOU?
My life…your life…life of a TREE…life of a man!
I’m drowning in my own thoughts, dreams, reflections, illusions, deceptions. I actually look out the window, bootless. I take a look at the tree in front of my house, my tree, yes your tree: big, magnificent, eternal. It is bending; No, I dare not address our tree as “IT”, it has life like me and like you! “He is my Tree” Yes, He is bending his branches with grace, fondling the ground. He’s gloomy…he’s sad. I feel the sorrow in his yellow leaves – his yellow eyes; I try to find out his reasons, but I can’t. I sink into my reverie…
The same tree appeared in my dream; imposing and noble. The faded leaves are telling the story of a stray life among the seasons. The dream of a tree is ETERNITY, YOUTH, and GRANDEUR. I pick his every feeling and try to bring them deep into my soul. I want to live this experience along with him, near upon him and in his thoughts. I am sinking, please help!
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I see it dying everyday; so much pain, so much tribulation. The leaves are growing pale, they are turning yellow, and |
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the branches that used to be imposing are now searing in front of my eyes, ending up their lives as brushwood. Some are lucky and escape from the fate’s blow. I remember his youth and splendor. I would give anything to see him again, just one more time, like he once used to be: haughty and magnificent. I hid among the patter brushwood, rummaged by the wind. I feel him so sad and lonely; as if, in his desperation he’s struggling to open his eyes; as if, in his madness, he’s crying to the Sky, bagging for some more time, even if just a little more; it is useless however. Autumn’s spells tempt him more and more.
I open my eyes and see an empty and lonely tree. There is just a bare trunk left of his grandeur; a seldom resting place for a stray bird. But she is also disappointed and rushes away soon. In front of him a seed take his chance to spread its too tiny roots. Soon will snow and the seed will die, just like the Tree. The heavy coat of life won’t be able to warm them. They will die together.
The Sky seams to have mercy of his suffer. The wind storks him gently, disheveling his brushwood, interlaced by agony. The Sun is also sending him joyful smiles. Everything seams to become alive. Even The Tree is stretching his brushwood to the sky. Although leafless, one can see his pride. He greets the Sky… or is he bowing? Who knows, what unseen divinity is he worshiping? To whom is he speaking? I’d like to understand his each and every sign, each and every move. A hollow gets its outlines. It is the first time I am noticing it; it shapes like two cold and thin lips, trying to tell me something…might be a story, might be some complain… but who knows?
No one knows what My Tree is thinking?
The two of us –My Tree and I – are sitting side by side; I am caressing his branches, now too rugged. I am feeling his vibrations with my every touch. I’m feeling him smiling… and also his Thanks…
The first snow! He is standing and bearing everything. He would love to run, I can feel it; we live together. From now on we are one and the same; we live one through another. The seed died about three days ago. And the frost brought ice even in my soul. Soon it looks like a snowman, covered by a white powder. The branches are bowing under the weight of the snow and My Tree is crying. I hear him every night wailing his fate. The burden is too heavy for him. What did he do wrong to deserve this?
I wake up of my dream. The tree is still there proudly looking at me. Despite his yellowish leaves he’s struggling to hide his pain. A man approaches him, and without even thinking, he is striking the Tree’s thick trunk with his ax. The grief seizes him before falling.
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One of his branches is catching hold of my window as if stretching out his hands in a farewell, I am swimming in sorrow. Life of a Tree, life of a man… Now, he is lying inanimate on the moist ground. I am stroking him while telling him Good-Bye. I only hope his “after life” will be more quite without me and the traps of seasons. |
Once lofty and magnificent, now…just nothing; and the same is my life without The Tree… life of a man and life of a Tree; life of Mankind and life of Mother Nature, who can tell the difference?
Let’s play! Never forget to play! Think of your childhood and think of your children… they have balls, do they have air? They have toy-cars but is their air clean? They have dolls, do they have trees? They have words and do have questions! They have our answers, but do we really have answers? Do we really have Trees for them?!... A tree for each of them! DO we care enough?
Think about it! Life of a man… life of a tree…
Thank You my friends!
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