The Tree

New Life

The acorn skipped down the hill, escaped from the clutches of the innocent brown squirrel. This acorn chose life, to stretch into the unknown realm of growth, and breath in the vision of the world.

Coming to a stop on a soft patch of topsoil teaming with the rich nutrients to give a young oak the strength to grow to witness the relentless march of time, it nestled into its final resting place to begin its quiet pondering.

The acorn waited. The sun rose and fell in the sky in its neverending cosmic dance, emitting the breath of life towards its planetary partners.

The gift of precipitation and the bountiful harvest of the sun gave the acorn growth. The acorn split, an anchor driving downward, cementing its place in the world. The anchor extended more and more, providing plenty of the Earths sustenance to the tiny seed of life.

A small sprout from the black topsoil and the young oak gasped for breath. The sky was calling. The sapling stretched up as far as was possible for its diminutive size, but the sun continued its delicate rotation, and the oak was patient.

Not every day was simple for the oak. It soon realized the strength of the wind. The greed of the clouds. There were days the oak felt that it would snap from the gusty onslaught of storms. But its sheer determination held onto the hope of discovery through observation.

One day the thin green bands of new life would be sturdy, gnarled and unbendable arms. Each leaf a spark of contemplation yearning for understanding.

The sapling wanted to know. It wanted to know what it was, to understand what all this was for. Why did the currents of the air attempt to force the newly sprouted oak back down towards the cold ground? The oaks confusion at the airs violent gusts would sometimes turn to anger as it arched down against its will, every fiber straining back against its foe.

The oaks anger would sometimes turn towards the clouds themselves, who often left the tree parched. Why would the clouds not relinquish their hold on the life-giving moisture they held? The sapling would stretch and stretch, forcing it's roots deeper into the ground around it in search of a drop to drink.

Other times the tree felt frustrated with the search itself, wishing the hill it rested by would kneel down, pressing itself into the soft ground allowing the sun to shine longer, providing even more of the energy of creation to the oaks outstretched arms.

Alas, the hill would not be persuaded, forcing the oak to reach higher for each bit of light. It's small green limbs having to thicken and harden to support their own weight.

The cycles of the universe continued with each passing moment. The fall and rise of the warm sun. The occasional pounding of heavy winds and rains. The constant struggle for more light as the days grew shorter. The ever-deepening spiral of its growing tendrils digging into the earth searching for one more sip of water as the season grew dryer.

Struggles lessened over time. The winds tired, the sun would hang higher in the sky, and sometimes even the clouds would smile upon the oak with rare generosity. In these times the oak was exuberant, its inner-self frolicking down the uncharted path of curiosity.

But then as soon as life's pains subsided, hardship would take hold once more. Again putting the oaks thoughts into frustration and anger. The cruelty of it! To be showered with the gifts of the universe one day and be forced to scratch and claw for your existence the next.

The cycle continued endlessly, the clockwork of the universe ticking by, giving The oak the time to grow. Thin green branches gave way to the hardening of age. It's arms thickened and flexed against the brutal gusts that would push against it. It felt its roots surge downward, finding cooling refreshment in the depths of the soil.

Bright and hungry leaves sprouted in every direction, and the oak would sing as it swayed in the gently breeze of the easy times. Strange creatures would fly or crawl onto its growing perches, tickling and eliciting rustling laughter from the youthful tree.

What wonders the world had to discover! From the changing of the seasons to the musings of the curious critters that danced throughout its branches things were a puzzle indeed. Puzzles gave the oak purpose. Puzzles could be solved. The oak was patient, and time shines light on the mysteries, revealing the secrets of the world.

The seasons passed and the oaks interests narrowed. The larger questions gnawing at its thought withheld their answers, so the ever curious tree asked smaller questions.

What did the scuttling things marching in lines up its torso want from it? Did they think of what the tree thought of?

Did the fat wiggly creatures that hung in their handmade prisons to emerge more free than before, flapping colorful wings to find unreachable places, find joy in their flight?

The questions frustrated the strengthening tree. New ones every day would sprout from the occurrences around it. And still the relentless cycle of life turned around it. Constantly distracting its silent contemplations, forcing its attention towards the never-ending search for water and light, the gifts of the sky, allowing for the very questions they frustrated.

Seasons continued to pass. The trees resolve hardening its aging branches, growing tall and possessing a strength that could withstand the onslaught of time. The oaks patience and thirst for understanding would hold, its roots having successfully grabbed ahold of the foundations of the earth.

The young tree had passed from a helpless acorn to a thriving pillar of thought now immovable in its steady pose, leaves dancing in the breeze listening and feeling for the secrets of the universe. Each growing branch another extension of consciousness pondering the mechanisms of the world.

Soon, by the standards of the oak, less attention was needed to navigate the uneven and unfair whims of the seasons, leaving more for the questions the world presented.

Having made the decision for no particular reason, the tree turned its focus towards the colony of carpenter ants darting up and down its rough bark, carrying nutritious discoveries into the tiny corridors they cut out for their maze-like homes.

What drove them? How did they coordinate their actions into such prosice parades of gifts for the newly formed larva and the queen herself?

Time passed, and the colony grew, just as the tree grew. The group acted as the tree acted, all separate parts working in unison to strengthen the whole system. Like roots in search of water, the diggers would extend the structure of the tunnels, providing the strong foundation for thought to form.

The branches of the colony marched out in search of similar gifts the tree searched for. The diligent workers would carry the sustenance of the world back to the core of the system, fueling the inspiration of discovery.

The tree decided the colony was akin to itself. A complex system with a central curiosity. Perhaps it yearned for answers to the same questions that bit at the thoughtful oak.

While the tree did not know how to communicate, it was pleased the colony decided to reside nearby. It felt good to have a partner in its struggle for life and desire for answers. It felt good to have a friend.

The tree was patient. Time would reveal answers. The tree would learn that time did another thing. It revealed more questions. The endless avalanche of curiosity leads to a relentless thirst for understanding. A battle the tree would fight for a long time.

The tree was patient, and knew it could wait for answers and uncover every secret that presented itself.

The seasons passed.

The oaks curiosity grew.

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To be continued...