Near Pasco, Washington there was a tree. It was the only
tree in the area not part of the tree genocide that the early pioneers
called “Clearing of the land.”
The tree didn’t know what kind it was. Season after season
it stood in its place and did tree things. Many miles to the West there were
great forests. Thee tree know didn’t what kind they were either, but did
remember once being part of a forest. It was a pleasant tree thought.
When the sun was just right and falling behind the forests
people would come to sit by the tree.
They would do very good tree impressions by being silent. They would sit
with the tree and watch as another day escaped into twilight and then night.
Occasional whispers would come from them and the winds slight gasps.
As darkness fell the humans would sometimes press their lips
together and the tree smiled. It remembered tree kisses from long, long ago.
As the people grew closer all the world decided it would be
still. At last, a hand would reach out
and touch the tree. “Good bye and thank you” the touch said.
The tree would keep its place waiting for the next sunset
and touch. It was what it was meant to do.