The Lone Tree

The lone tree

I stand alone atop this mountain

A sentinel standing firm and stout, with a crown full of branches

I

                       sit

                                                                                                      and

                                                                                                               wait

for my friend is yet to come. The rocks crumble and fall as the small child arrives on the steep slope of the mountain

My leaves rustle with joy as the small boy wraps his arms around me and begins to murmur. He starts to climb my twisted limbs; one by one he reaches his destination, at the top of me.

Day

       after

                   day

                           year

                                    after

                                              year

                                                        the small boy begins to grow, his adventure to adulthood

is beginning, and mine is ending.

He comes to visit me less and less, his bond with the tree grows weak and so do I. The old tree waits and hopes the boy will arrive, every minute he looks at the overgrown path the boy would take.

Leaves fall from branches like tears, they litter the ground in a puddle. The colour from my gentle face begins to drain, like the energy of a child.

I stand alone atop this mountain. A sentinel standing firm and stout, with a crown full of branches

I sit and wait for my friend to come.