Tree Dreams

If any ground is hallowed, it is that of the forests. Only there among the steeples and spires made of branches and choirs of birds with their myriad of songs sung in honest praise, will I remove my cap and be tempted to bend my knee in reverence. And if the earth has sentience, then it is through these ancient watchers, the trees.

Here, in the valley, they dream of death each night as their source of life falls below the horizon, abandoning them. So, they grow as tall as nature will permit, hoping to reach the blue of the sky. Thinking that this will please their god of light, they are grateful for his return each morning.

Reviews

[Marie]

THis is very beautiful. More like a prose poem than a story.

[Alan B.]

Thank you for reading and the positive feedback!