Pine

The weather has failed to spare brumal intensity

my acquaintances at ease, the pretty of their greens waning with the distant, passing wind

However, short-lived, the atmosphere was breached as my trunk kissed a buckled boot

My disbelief subsequently morphed into anger as the foreign boot kicked into my corium

What could this be? What, in my land of essence, would dare to stain my winter’s bark?

I stared at the body, expecting it to leave my territory and return back to where it resides

but went wide-eyed when more appeared, draped in colors of raven and silver

At their palms lied forbidding weights, an odd shape they were, resembling the twigs of my own.

I wanted their execution the very instance they set harm to my arms but recoiled that sentiment

as vocalization bid their tongues, what were they saying? Are they evil, present to endanger?

A day has passed and the colonial slobs are sitting at my trunk, displeased at my friend the sun

Were they soon devising to take march? As I thought, the men disintegrated, in an instance.

I curled my arms out, in both relief and excitement for spring’s beginning

shedding was decorating the ground beneath my mass, dead leaves falling ploddingly

Then to enter my range of vision was the silhouette of a quill, followed by a body

This encounter was unalike the colonial sapiens, less calamity and no apparent want for ruin

No, in fact, the breed gifted liquid to my withering leaves, discontinuing my period of drought

Who were they? What did they want? At their heads, erected a feather. What did this mean?

The tribe stayed by my side, offering water every so often to earn my guardianship

They did, earn it. I felt comfortable as they would bathe me, speak sweetness to me

It felt natural, the degree of appreciation the natives had for me. Their care was unfeigned.

I sat in dolefulness the day the people of color vanished, although they had brought me great happiness, I wanted the love that I had failed to return, as selfish as that sounds

I awaited in silence as a new congregation found passage into my sacred expanse

Who were they? What did they want? It was obvious they had no knowledge of my existence.

Delved in the hearts of their hands was a small device, what could that be?

Noises erupted from the crowd, their hands picking trace at my coat, leaving the area warm

Flashes demised from the contractions at their tips as a computerized voice avowed, “My name is Siri, what can I help you with?” The bodies responding to it with sheer curiosity, “what is this phenomenon called?” I allowed my leaves to shrivel as tears threatened to give out, in the same breath, a serrated blade impaled into my transverse, severing my deep trunks from the soil below.

My vision fruitless, my sentience perished... alas no sign of life remains.

“It’s a bristlecone pine.”