The Maple-leaved oak

The maple-leaved oak loved the forest until the moment it was taken away from her.

            She moans because Arkansas is her home.  She is uniquely adapted for this ground but the people take her away.  She doesn’t grow fast enough to meet their constant demand.  She anchors her roots and stands tall just as her ancestors did.  She tries not to shake but the people’s machine shakes the ground that steadies her.  She sees her beautiful red leaves begin to fall as her limbs shake.  The machine gets closer and she feels its blade pierce into her bark.  She’s screaming but they don’t hear her.  They never hear her.

            She tried to show them what love was.  She gave shade.  She pumped the oxygen they needed back to them.  She never kept it because she didn’t need it.  It wasn’t hers to take.  In the fall, she showed them beauty in her colored leaves.  They loved to take pictures of her friends and her.  She heard them talk of the wonderful landscape her friends and she created.  She made natives proud to be Arkansans and visitors marvel at her state’s beauty.  She tried to show them she was worth keeping, worth loving. 

            Some did love her, but not enough to stop it.  They wanted money.  She lived to give them what they wanted.  They were going to plant pines in her place because they grew fast and could satisfy the people quickly, but Arkansas wasn’t their home.  Their mother hadn’t tailored them for Arkansas the way she had been.  The birds preferred her strong limbs, and the deer liked the way her large leaves softly crunched beneath their hooves.  The white oak accentuated the red tones of her autumn leaves perfectly and she blended with the white oak’s radiant tones of orange.  She loved the white oak and the white oak loved her. 

            The people didn’t know that.  They didn’t listen to the forest the way she did.  She didn’t think it was their fault.  They had created too many sounds.  Their ears were too full to listen.  She loved the people and the birds and the flowers and the sun.  She loved the way her mother had created things, and she loved the way she fit into the mountain’s family.  She refused to hate the people even as their blade caused her to fall. 

Without much chance for a goodbye her strong trunk was hauled away.  She’d never hear the cardinal’s song again or the stream trickling down the side of the mountain or a child squeal as they saw a rabbit hopping beneath her shade.  She’d never see another brush-footed butterfly or another brilliant sunrise.  The white oak would miss her in the morning when he awoke to find the forest absent of her red leaves.  The mother swallow would come back from her flight with a worm to find her nest destroyed and no babies to feed.  The people had taken from the forest without even stopping to hear its mournful song.  

Reviews

[Tom McRoberts]

Very nice. The first paragraph, with the repeated 'she', 'she', 'she' really pushes the reader to identify with her, and in the end it's our machines which feel alien and strange. Perhaps change the motivation of the people up a little 'money' seems a little simple, instead maybe highlight their ignorance? They only act the way they do because they haven't understood the tree like you force the reader too, may resonate more. Also, at the end she is hauled away, but the loss leaves less impact because you continue to speak of her. You could substitute "the white oak would miss her when he awoke to find the forest absent of red leaves" with "the white oak would awake to find the forest absent of red leaves" etc. Communicate her absence WITH her absence. As it stands it's already a really lovely piece (you wouldn't have gotten all that feedback otherwise), it has a lot of potential.

[elynne]

Thank you so much! Thank you so much for the criticism. Your points are really helpful and I will take your ideas into account upon revision of the piece! :)

[Tom McRoberts]

I'm glad to help. If you ever write-up another version make sure to send me a read request! I really like the story and would love to see where you take it.

[Roni Archer]

Lovely and very different

[elynne]

Thank you!

[J.A. Marquez]

"...as her limbs shake." I think tremble would be a more effective substitute. The ending is a bit flat for me also. Regardless, this absolutely beautiful and profound. The truth in it is eye opening. You made me feel the sorrow of the tree. Great job!

[elynne]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read it! I'm glad you enjoyed reading it and will definitely take carefully consider your criticism. Thanks!

[J.A. Marquez]

Absolutely, I love reading almost as much as I love writing.