The exercise:
Write about: the tree.
Max has kindly shared his cold with both Kat and myself. Generous little fellow, isn't he?
First morning of work with our farm intern went pretty well. Hoping I won't have to send her out to the garden on her own tomorrow morning because I'm stuck in bed.
Mine:
Roots twist and turn deep into the earth, searching for something long forgotten. Something secret. Something infused with old words and older magic.
Something best left undisturbed.
Still it reaches, safely out of sight. High above, in the warmth of the sun and shade of its boughs, children play and couples picnic. Laughter fills the air, tears slip from eyes, wine stains the ground.
Wait... no... who spilled the bottle? What fool gave this monstrous tree the power it needed to complete its search?
Too late... much too late. All that is left for us now is to pray.
And run.
3 comments:
Haha, you're going to have to get used to being a little sicker for the next few years while Max works his way through all the germs he can find :) Wait till he starts going to school and meeting other children!
I find it hard to think of trees as monstrous for some reason, so I'm firmly on the side of the tree in your piece today. Come on tree!
The tree
"What is that, Derek? It looks... well, dead actually. Did you put a stick in a pot of soil?"
"Oh, Mabel! I'm so glad you came back after that... um... little... uh, awk–"
"Let's not talk about it Derek. Why is this stick in a pot on my desk?"
"It's a gift."
"..."
"For you."
"Derek, let me first say thank-you for thinking of me. Second, let me point out that gifts are supposed to be attractive, or possibly, but definitely not for birthdays or Christmas, practical. This is, without wanting to hurt you, rubbish."
"It's a bonsai tree, Mabel! The man in the shop told me all about it, you just keep its roots and leaves trimmed with nail scissors and– Mabel? Why are you pulling it out of its pot?"
"It's a length of dowel, Derek."
"It's a bonsai binary tree!"
"Put this in the bin Derek, and let's get back to work."
The Tree
Someone once said something about never finding a poem as lovely as a tree. I suppose that the same comparison could be made with any aspect of nature, but as an engineer I tend to be interested in ultimate constraints. What if we take the argument to its end case? There is an entire spectrum of poetry, from sublime to profound to trite. Equally, the loveliness of trees is a continuum from majestic to ordinary to ugly. At some point there must be a crossover where a given poem is more lovely than a specific tree.
As I feel a drop of sweat trickling down my back, I realize I should probably turn the air conditioner down a bit. But it’s so comfortable in my recliner watching the flames in the fireplace and wondering which category this tree once occupied.
Greg - you would be on the tree's side :P
A bonsai binary tree? That's effin' brilliant :D
Aholiab - really enjoyed the contrast between the two paragraphs. I think your opening was especially strong in this one.
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