I feel the Death of a Tree

The air is thick. And slow. It is static and heavy as if pregnant.

Then the wind swoops in from the sea, unsettling the trapping of time. The air had time trapped well but now it was breaking free. So all things rushed forward in their individual dances of hurry, to try to catch up with lost time as much as possible before it would be trapped again.

So I watch on as the blades of my green friends twist and turn and shout in glee with all abandon. They are so happy that they open their mouths wide as if they were trying to eat happiness. As if they were trying to eat it and imprison it in their stomachs so it would not escape. And then upon their will, they would be able to regurgitate it and experience it again. Their mouths are so open that their faces look ugly and contorted. Of course, I do not tell them this. I just smile and wave. They smile at me and wave with a childishness that I so enamor.

But yet, there I stand. A tree. A huge dying and hollowing tree. My bulk stands the rush of time as it tries to sweep me into dance. It only manages to ruffle my leaves, upon which many fall off. Oh great, death and baldness.

So time sweeps past me continuously in a barrage, howling its name in my face and upon my skin. But unable to sweep my frame into dance, it can only do its best and meander around my existence, caressing and tickling my sides. If only I possessed my insides, I would giggle.

But time moves on. It has to. It bends its way past me and re-envelopes into itself behind me and carries on its way. I can't be sure as I can't turn, you see? But I think it was shouting my name as it blew past, further and further. My green friends stop their dance as well and droop, the thick air already crushing them once again. In silence and apparent disappointment, they await the next rush when time would escape the thick air again.