CLUTTER

my last embrace with a pine tree

the wind was howling and needles were falling into my eyes, getting caught in my hair.
i didn't mind.
its bark was rough and its cones heavy on the branches and it sagged with age.
i could feel a pulse deep inside.
or maybe it was just the cicadas, singing and singing and never stopping.
the emerald smell of pine filled my ears and i wanted to scream.
to tell the world to care about my pine tree.
there was too much oozing sap and too many bugs in the crown.
why wasn't anyone looking? why wasn't anyone helping?
because other trees were in much more dire states.
struck by lightning, termite infested and chopped in half,
these pines were a priority.
and then i wept. for this pine that i was hugging and all the other ones with problems too small for this world to notice.
problems almost invisible.
but ones that destroy silently and slowly, prolonging the end and making the suffering so much more profound than it should've been.
i weep still.
shed tears for my trees.
for i cannot do a thing for them. not even clip a dry branch.
since i too am using my scissors for other pines, sicker pines.
they truly are a priority.
i can only wish for a day when we will have enough scissors and enough hands that some, if even just a few, can turn towards my pines.
my sad, long suffering pines.
and heal a branch, mend a cut.