I feel the Death of a Tree

All is white death everywhere. My green friends have fallen under the sheet and weight of it all. I stand in isolation. These past few days, the snow and I have become good friends. It is numb and listens to no one. I speak and it shits on me. In my silent moments, I pretend that I have a friend.

So the snow shits its pretty self all over me and the landscape for as far as I can see. From what I gather, I should use the cold to my advantage, albeit for as long as it continues to be.

Numb. Suppression. If I opened up and tilted my holes in certain angles and let it snow into my insides, it should help. At least, that is what I gather. It is torment to ebb away, so it should make the process more easy-going if I were not able to feel it.

A crow then lands on my crown of lack-luster branches. Cawing, it looks out into the bleak abyss. Nails claw into my crown, I feel the prickle of pain. The heat gathers from its claws and its feet and makes its insidious way into my heart. Actually, I do not know what this "heart" is. But I guess I call it my heart since its essence can be felt at my core. One summer, I once heard a boy talk about it and punch his fist to his chest and proclaim to a female, "I love and feel you, here!" So that is why I call it my heart. Laugh and mock if you want. I realize that the idea of a spiritually mature sentient being like myself borrowing frail human terms is certainly ridiculous. I was never a sensible tree.

Now the heat gathers and the hollowness strikes again. I can feel it in my hollow trunk. I can feel the lack of material slowly spacing out and up into the higher recesses of my trunk. Hot air rises and apparently so does hot nothingness. It chokes me. You would never imagine nothing to be heavy. Yet it is! It is heavy in its immaterial, in its nonchalance and scorn for the laws of physics and my well-being. It suffocates and bears down heavy.

I know the crow is the blasted cause of this! I want to crane up and eyeball it. I want to see it in all its grotesque beauty and feel the heat that it brings expand the hollowness more and more until it consumes me! A cowardly wish and desire, you may say. Another measure would be to grab hold of the crow and just let go of that particular perch and let them crash to their colorful demise. Yes, I could channel the nothingness there and then release it, killing two stones with one bird!

Yes, I am referring to it as a perch because since if I dare to amputate myself, I should have the fortitude to call it what it is and should be. Not of me, not of my hollowness but a sacrificed physical pain in order to aid my cowardly escape from the expanding hollowness.