Trees tell stories,
The rings within them as well.
The age of a flower is shown through its petals,
But a leaf can not tell a story without the bark holding the tree together...
It's funny how something so silent, has a story that can go on for years and years on end.
Humans have taken advantage of all that is good in order to feed stupidity.
Many people have fallen to weakness and it is heartbreaking to see.
That no one just walks anymore, rushing through life like a race, but still find time to find all that is wrong with EVERY race but our own...
The human race.
So much pain and horrifyingly satisfied with all that is good, or so we think.
In reality the life as we know it is being taken away breath by breath, and we go unseeing and unaware.
The trees have been here a long time.
They tell stories.
Maybe we should listen instead of walking a broken road...
That will eventually lead to nothing.
About the Creator
Olivia Colley
Life is what we make of it.
So just plan it, and live it.
Don't let anyone take away your creation called life.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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