The Tree

Seasons come and seasons go. They say like nature, life is full of cyclic changes. You can't be in one state forever.

But I wonder how, how does that tree feel, who has lived through the winter, uncertain and insecure about whether he will survive the snow and biting cold; living on the lone hope that soon spring will come, using the imagery of the grandeur of the spring to survive, to keep itself from getting wasted. How does it feel, when spring nearly comes and brings along with it a terrible storm? A storm that shakes out every tender twig and leaf it had. Everywhere around except itself, the tree sees the effect of spring, but it itself is left standing there "naked".

Does it have left, the strength, to wait for the leaves to bud again? Does it look forward to another spring? Or does it just stand there, waiting to be chopped down: to be used for fire to keep somebody warm. Or does it just fall into the earth, and rot so that it becomes compost, to make the land it was anchored in so far become more fertile, so that people or maybe the chunks of land around, marvel and applaud the fertility of the soil that it grew in.

I don't know, maybe the spring turns around and gives it new leaves, and the tree stands there, majestic and tall and greener than any other tree. For only "it" realizes the importance of the spring, for he has wanted it the most.

For the rest, it is just another season.