Pine

Story about a tree... Or is it?

Stormy gusts wafted through the branches as the rain sleeted upon its green needles. The mold and dust of days gone by were shaken free by currents of water droplets. It was weeks before the hot summer sun warmed the needles again. When it did, the needles were crisp and clean. Time went by and soon the sun set, but it did not rain. The rays beat down upon the pine for countless hours. The tree grew more and more ring, consecutively smaller, around its stout trunk. One day, all the stored water was used up and it had not rained for a long time. The needles began to break and crackled to the ground. The air was swollen with drought and the tree slowly decayed. The mold and dust accumulated once more, and the branches dropped like flies. Yet the rain did not return. Only the sun remained for the tree. Every day, not relenting, and soon, being unable to sustain itself any longer, the tree crashed to the ground without a single utterance of sound. The sun burned long, taking what little green the needles had left. As the tree looked one last time upon the golden valley, the rain returned, and the valley rejoiced.

But not the tree.

The tree had seen its time and now left the peaceful valley, its spirit whisked away by the sun's ugly tentacles.

Author's Note

If you don't really understand the story, look up the word pine.