But Then

The last tree had been felled long before, her father had told her.

It had been red-leafed and defiant, staving off wanton axes

But, like all things of value and promise, it had been felled. 

The young girl imagined what a tree would have been like

Tall like a building, proud like a statue, reaching ever-upwards—

Like pleading hands to the clouds.

Her imagination wavered and she lost her thought

Instead looking at her tendril-like toes

Caked in the red river soil of her land

And, with an odd twist of her mouth,

She began a new imagining

Of feet like tree roots, deep in the earth

Of arms like branches, embracing one another

Of fingers like leaves of all sizes and shapes and colours and imperfections

Of that strange lattice-like cobweb that connects all things

And it gave the odd twist of her mouth...a smile.

From the shade of his lean-to, her father watched this little girl

With a smile on her face - and he wondered -

What special thing was making her smile so.