Arbol cried as he felt the harsh wind shove him with all his might. He hated that caressing feeling during the morn, evening and night. Why couldn’t he be as tiny as the carefree flowers that danced in his shadows below, or like the blades of grass that lazily sat there? He didn’t enjoy being a tree, a big, stiff trunk that creaked during the darkest hours, limbs branching out in the most irrational way, occasionally having them snap in halve—how that hurt!—and the hair-full of leaves growing into a bushy canopy during the hottest days but on those harsh cold ones, it fell out, leaving him bare and shivering.
The only thing that kept him going was the rain. The rain that was announced by the tumbling gray clouds that rolled into the sky like waves. Tiny prickles became immense shots, resonating throughout the vicinity and that is when everyone cowered under him. The green wet grass, the pretty flowers, the moss, tiny animals, even the bugs and the meanest of spiders found shelter.
There was once an instance in which he and the others witnessed two humans finding refuge under him. Their clothes stuck to them like his leaves to his branches and they were obviously blown away by their circumstance. They huddled near his overgrowing roots, stepping closer and closer into their warmth. And what a sight took place! Bubbling laughter erupted from them—a tenor gruff and a soft, light bounce that mingled with the drippity drops of the rain and the swirling wind that was quickly dying down.
And then heat, and sounds that Arbol had never in his growth heard before. Under the protectiveness of his trunk they became a unity, under the pebbly and rain soaked earth they rejoiced in there togetherness. No words were exchanged, only hurried breathes and smoldering stares. Arbol left them in their intimate embrace and focused on the fresh-feel of the rain. He thought to himself that their time should be theirs only; he should not intervene or stay during their duration.
When the rain dissipated and the sun slowly peeked out, the humans picked up their belongings and trailed back to their lives, Arbol never saw them again.
But what they gave him was something that made him stand out from the rest. On his trunk, near one of his cascading branches was a carved tattoo. It was shaped into a crooked heart with their initials.
In that moment he was glad he was a tree, for he was shelter to the loving creatures that made him realize how beautiful life could be.
