Title: "Beginnings"
They both exist beneath the ground, the Pebble and the seed. Water seeps through the pebbles, awakening the sleepy seed.
Slowly, the seed stirs, green sprouts shyly pushing out and uncurling. One day, the tentative pushing shoves, shoves and pop! Nothing is there, nothing but the strange caress of air. The seed has left the pebbles behind.
Watered by the sky and nourished by the earth, the seed grows farther and farther from his childhood friend of stone. Farther, farther, the seed reaches for the sky, sending out twiggy fingers, sticks, and branches. How far can he go? Oak won't know unless he tries.
But his journey cannot continue forever.
He celebrates the seasons: spring with leaves, autumn with nuts and winter frosts him with snow. Quietly he exists in nature, swaying with the breeze and bending with the storms.
Oak lives a calm and peaceful life. The squirrels tickle his branches and the birds nest in his heights. So much new life and he can offer them each a place to grow.
"A place to grow" he hears the man murmur, as he tramps around the Oak's trunk.
Oak rustles a response, dozing in the afternoon sun.
PAIN! PAIN! Something is tearing, cutting, searing him apart! PAIN! PAIN!
The pieces fall heavy, striking hard against stones on the forest floor. BOOM! Oak cannot feel his arms. His roots are disconnected. Is this the end?
The squirrels long since scattered. No one watches Oak is dragged away.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Oak awakes. How can he see from so many angles? It takes him awhile to adjust to his new separated heart. In time, he comprehends: the noise is the man, the man who tore him apart.
The man is stacking, somehow welding together stones. Stones? What could he want with such lazy things? Oak wonders.
Smack, Tap! Smack, Tap! Against his cheek, his side, his back, Oak feels the smooth, hard pressure. So much bigger but these stones remind him of his old friend, Pebble. Oh for those days of cuddled warmth and possibility.
The tapping hurts but nothing like the searing pain in the forest. Oak drifts off to dream again of the life he used to have. Where do the birds nest now?
"A place to grow!" this voice is softer, sweeter. Oak never feels the rain anymore. Other tree pieces, as strange as it sounds, surround and cover him.
The sweet voice always comes with a tender touch of soft skin. "A place to grow," she often whispers, dishes clattering each night.
Her feet grow heavier through the months and one day, Oak again hears the cry and whimpers of new life. He is torn and broken but rejoices to support new life once more.
Perhaps this new life is something to enjoy after all.
Slowly, the seed stirs, green sprouts shyly pushing out and uncurling. One day, the tentative pushing shoves, shoves and pop! Nothing is there, nothing but the strange caress of air. The seed has left the pebbles behind.
Watered by the sky and nourished by the earth, the seed grows farther and farther from his childhood friend of stone. Farther, farther, the seed reaches for the sky, sending out twiggy fingers, sticks, and branches. How far can he go? Oak won't know unless he tries.
But his journey cannot continue forever.
He celebrates the seasons: spring with leaves, autumn with nuts and winter frosts him with snow. Quietly he exists in nature, swaying with the breeze and bending with the storms.
Oak lives a calm and peaceful life. The squirrels tickle his branches and the birds nest in his heights. So much new life and he can offer them each a place to grow.
"A place to grow" he hears the man murmur, as he tramps around the Oak's trunk.
Oak rustles a response, dozing in the afternoon sun.
PAIN! PAIN! Something is tearing, cutting, searing him apart! PAIN! PAIN!
The pieces fall heavy, striking hard against stones on the forest floor. BOOM! Oak cannot feel his arms. His roots are disconnected. Is this the end?
The squirrels long since scattered. No one watches Oak is dragged away.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Oak awakes. How can he see from so many angles? It takes him awhile to adjust to his new separated heart. In time, he comprehends: the noise is the man, the man who tore him apart.
The man is stacking, somehow welding together stones. Stones? What could he want with such lazy things? Oak wonders.
Smack, Tap! Smack, Tap! Against his cheek, his side, his back, Oak feels the smooth, hard pressure. So much bigger but these stones remind him of his old friend, Pebble. Oh for those days of cuddled warmth and possibility.
The tapping hurts but nothing like the searing pain in the forest. Oak drifts off to dream again of the life he used to have. Where do the birds nest now?
"A place to grow!" this voice is softer, sweeter. Oak never feels the rain anymore. Other tree pieces, as strange as it sounds, surround and cover him.
The sweet voice always comes with a tender touch of soft skin. "A place to grow," she often whispers, dishes clattering each night.
Her feet grow heavier through the months and one day, Oak again hears the cry and whimpers of new life. He is torn and broken but rejoices to support new life once more.
Perhaps this new life is something to enjoy after all.