The Tree

* by Poet Rose *

The tree, perhaps the last tree, was centered in the village. It was very ancient but no one knew for sure how old it really was. The only true measure would be to cut it down and count the rings which meant prison or worse. There were many rumors about the tree. Some said it stood at this very spot since the beginning of time. Some said the tree was dangerous and should be destroyed. Yet, many feared the tree for it was also said that this very tree had been consumed by flame yet not burned one bit. Sadly, however, the old man who started that rumor had long left the sad lonely village. Those who feared the tree felt it surely had special powers. For many spoke of the great robed guardians that once stood protecting the tree. Yet, even in the mist and shadows, some actually did enjoy the tree, mostly just the old men and old women of the village. A few of those truly dedicated to the tree would decorate it on occasion or bring in some new synthesized soil. (Just so you know, everything was stark, cold, and metal, except for the special soil under the tree.) From time to time the young would mock the tree and the legends. It was also rumored the tree was a weeping willow, but who could be certain since no tree experts existed any more. The older said perhaps it was a type of cherry tree, others said an apple tree, some said a tree of knowledge. Those few believed its roots and bark would be useful for medical purposes.

No matter what kind of tree it was, its short branches hung low and sad. Its leaves fell like tears, one by one. Yet none were ever missing from the tree. Whenever a petal fell it was replaced by another one. Oddly there were no browned leaves cradling the ground under the tree either. They just disappeared once they landed upon the artificial soil. In some seasons the leaves curled up into the shape of a red hearts. In other seasons it seemed the tree was bleeding. Yet, no matter the season, the tree was never bare. Indeed it was always quite beautiful with a smooth almost silky bark of a slightly chocolate shade of brown. A non-existent wind would blow from time to time making the tree sway slightly and the leaves would move making a chiming sound. The wise old men often sat under the tree on their little cold metal benches. They would meditate and admire the tree. They would frown and groan at the rest of their surroundings. They would complain about how the young people never came to the tree. They called them blasphemers with their bitter breath. The women of the village tried to encourage and train the young ones to go to the tree. It was a curiosity that the tree would glisten when the children came and danced around it. It was as if you could see the tree growing every time laughter joined in harmony with the chiming leaves. Yet the children were busy with their electronic world. Their nanobots kept them fully entertained. They had long grown disenchanted by their cold bleak breezeless world. Yes, even in the same way, the elder men had long lost interest in teaching the young ones. Somehow they lost their heritage. Somehow they had lost the real meaning of the tree. It was just an icon for travelers to follow as they journeyed through the land. It was just a place where old men sat disheartened and waited. So much time passed that they did not even know what it was they were waiting for. The old debates of theology now gave way to indifference. One wise elder pondered about how the roots of the tree that used to wrap all around the town now seemed like small stubs. He shivered at the thought of the tree dying for lack of being fed. For he, deep in his heart, knew the tree was fed by love. Time came and went as time so gracefully does. The old men soon forgot the prophecy about a young man that would come to care for the tree. Yet, somehow, as if a miracle in itself, the odd tree continued to live and the leaves continued to shine and form little tiny heart like patterns. It was as if the tree had faith that someday that young person would come, a youth with a pure and vibrant heart. Surely then the tree would be cared for. Yes, a young heart would give the tree new life.

Just as the tree waited, there were a few others who also waited. Indeed, oddly, there in the dust remained one old man, a very, very old man, who had not forgotten the rumors of the youth. He had a particular longing in his heart to meet the young man and so he waited day in and day out. And indeed another old man who waited cried at the edge of town prophesizing about the coming of the young tree man. Of course, the young people just laughed and danced and used their technology. The older women just sighed. They had long since grown weary of their mundane chores. Life had lost a purpose and a reason, even taking care of that tree wasn't providing happiness to the old men or old women anymore. And so it was, day in and day out in this timeless village, the home of the tree. Until one day, just like any other day, just as all seemed lost, just as all sit with heavy hearts, a miracle happened. Indeed, miracles often happen when we are not expecting them. That is the beauty and grace of a miracle.

On this one day thunder roared and the sky opened wide and split the smog and dirt and darkness and shadows. A big yellow ball appeared in the sky and this large light shone in the sky all of the day. At night the sky remained parted and another bright light appeared. The old men muttered something about the stars. Even the young ones could not ignore these miraculous signs. Though they sat still waiting, their hearts beat as if a thousand men were pounding upon metal anvils. For many days the villagers watched the sky and the signs. The old man who waited had a new appearance on his face. Indeed, his face shone and his lips bore a smile. The old man, shouting, got very happy and others joined him. Finally, upon a breezy day, a young mother and father brought their baby to the old man waiting at the tree. The mother walked deliberately to the old man as if she knew him her whole life. She willingly handed over the infant to the old man. He held the child and as he took in the child's tender innocence, a tear fell down his face upon the artificial soil. Right then and there before their eyes some sort of flower emerged. Others began to gather. A flower in the artificial soil, a true miracle. The tree also swayed and the chimes were heard all over the desolate land. As the mother leaned over it and comforted the child she too dropped a tear and a flower bloomed. One old man whispered, “I do believe it is a rose.”

One of the old women tried to touch the flower, but it pricked her. “How could something so beautiful cause so much pain,” they asked of each other.

The mother took the child back into her arms and sighed. “Do you not understand? This child was sent by the tree so all may have life and have life abundantly. He was sent so that the tree might be understood. He was sent so that all would have hope in this plastic metal man made world. He was sent so man would escape from slavery. He was sent so that man shall not destroy this tree but should glorify this tree and in doing so man shall become immortal.”

Everyone scoffed and whispered and mocked. Only a few understood. The mother, father, and child went upon their way. The old man understood. He just felt very sad and old and tired, for he knew this new child would not be able to save the tree. He knew that even with new soil and even with new living water-  this tree would become extinct. For in this day man did not need a tree. Man only needed things made out of plastic and metal.

Again, time passed and the child grew into a man. During his days he kept the tree, honored and adored the tree. He performed many miracles in the name of the tree. The young man even told the others about how they could become branches of the tree. In response, some poked him with their energy prongs to torment him. And sadly, one day he was nailed to the tree by some who did not care to hear anymore. He bled and died upon that tree.

The old man was not surprised when the skies became dark and gray again, and he was not surprised when the flower (that had been called a rose) wilted and died. No, he was not surprised. Yet, it no longer mattered, for the tree was forgotten and the land remained barren. The people seemed relieved the tree was gone. They really didn't miss it and if anyone tried to talk about the tree, or the child, or the old man, they just installed new nanos inside them. All that was needed were some intelligent designs and that was accomplished by just replacing a human's frailties with more superior material. After all, they had plenty of metal and plastic. Who needed trees anyway? Artificial air had worked well for them for so long now.