The Oak

A great oak tree stands proud in field. It's branches are vast and ample with strength. The ripples inside this giant a many. Spinning perfect circles inside the core. Throughout the years the oak has shed its leaves to the hungry floor below. And every year the oak regrows its green wonder. Thousands of suns have risen casting shadows under this vast majestic. The moons have illuminated its branches which many nocturnal beings have called home. By day the rustle of squirrels and robins, by night, the calls of stirring darkness. This tree has seen much. Each year the landscape changes. Winters have covered its roots and floods have loosened the ground in which it rests. Still it stands. It has known thirst, starvation, cold, predator, flood, and drought. Still it stands. Now it is the tallest tree in the forest. Standing tall and proud above all it surrounds. With its wisdom it looks after the trees and underlying foliage beneath. Soon the cotton of the sky turns dark, the words of unrest and friction reverberate through the air. Thousands of tiny kisses fall to earth, moistening the cheeks of forest as it has many times before. The sting of scorn streaks through the atmosphere. A tasteful display. This scorn searches as it has so many times for a way to pull itself back to earth. Scorn has found itself away from home and reaches out to retract back to earth. It finds the path with the most prominent. What stands out over the rest. Scorn seeks the simplest and quickest way home. It reaches its ridged hand in a flash to the oak, pushing its fingertips first through the oaks great head. The oak is paralyzed. The fingers stretch through this great mass to the core, its, heart, and roots finally reaching home. The great oak splits into a thousand pieces. Parts of it spread through out the carpet below. Splinters slam into the surrounding inhabitants of the forest. The great oak falls. Stretched out upon the ground still gasping the oak fights for life. Time passes. The skies still sends its kisses, the sun showers its hugs. Yet these signs of affection do not nurture the oak as they did before, for the oak has fallen, in pieces... alone. The oak dies, leaving behind a hollow corpse of knowledge. The colors around change many times over. Green, orange, white, brown, and back to green. A ballet of refraction takes shape as its audience grows in wonder. One day from the oak's grave a wonder forms. A new growth. Stretching its arms toward the sea above. The ballet continues. After many dances the wonder has become an oak. Its ripples are view but expanding. Its roots are stronger than before and reach a far greater distance. One day this oak will stand as tall as it once did. From death comes life. From wisdom spawns greater strength.