My Life in the Forest

Yes, I am a tree. My bark is white and my leaves fall off in the autumn. They drink in the sunlight. They drink in the life from above and stretch out their shade for those who wander in this forest I live in.

I watch them come. They come in twos and threes. They come alone. They come in packs.

“Look at this one,” they will say as they traverse a pathless land.

They search for the traces of those gone before, but they will never find them. We guard the way and cover it as they pass.

They pass like a mist. They come. They go. We hear their voices rising in the distance and we hear their voices fade once more. They look up at us in wonder. They watch our leaves turn color. They take them as souvenirs. They go away.

They go away we know not whither. We know not whither. Do they have other trees where they live? They smell of pines and maples, but we have never seen these trees. Their story runs in our veins, but we have not seen them.

They go away and leave us to stare at the moon. I look up at her above me and reach out my arms. I reach for her in the night knowing that one day my arms will break through this feeble atmosphere, and I will embrace her reflection. I will sooth her silvery face and warm her with the warmth of the earth. I will bring her a gift that only I can give.