The Tree

         It had been growing for a century, just a tree.  In a snapshot, in a moment, uninteresting, and overlooked.  It was bearing fruit before the time that the elderly called "back when this was all farmland".  This tree had seen the end of a civilization, and the rise of another. 
         
    It's branches spread in no particular pattern, gathered sticks pushed into clay by a giant three year old, and it's bark gnarled in some places.  The ground in the vicinity was a tumult of protruding roots, a ghouls junkyard of cast off parts.  It was treacherous to even think about the tree without watching your step, as it seemed rooted in more than just the ground.

         The stationary hundred foot monster was in no peril, save perhaps lightning, which it had surly seen in the past and most certainly had no fear of.  It did not grab attention like a terminally ill patient, it was not scheduled for demolition.  In fact, most did not see the tree, even though it obscured half the sky next to their homes, and removed any chance of a lawn for fifty yards.  even if someone wanted to cut it down, I couldn't see a way they could.  Humans are no doubt resourceful, but this tree had transcended. 

         It's appearance was wretched from the abuse of the weather and countless animals.  Scars conglomerated like tumors, into nodes of wood harder than diamond.  Branches bent at odd angles mid-length, running into and binding with each other in some places, forming spots for pools of rain to gather.  Squirrels nested beyond the reach of even climbing predators, weaving balls of sticks, leaves, plastic bags and whatever else they could find.  The tree was so far into ugly that it circumnavigated back into the highest circle of awesome majesty.

         The simplicity of it's existence was it's key to doors that could not be opened by all the men and women who had passed it unknowingly.  While they struggled to survive, it just did.  While they sweat and bled, broke knuckles and heads in attempts to thrive, it flourished.  The tree did not question itself, it did not wonder if it was worthy of growth, nor did it contemplate the difficulty of the task.  Come what may, it kept growing.  When seasons shifted, it shifted too.  When chainsaws and bulldozers took it's kin, it stood silent and had no fear.  For, what was fear worth?

         So now, when I sit, in terror of my own failings, I recognize the lesson of the tree:  Sometimes, things break, strange creatures use you, and the wounds become scars.  Sometimes, things get rough, and what you need is in short supply.  Sometimes, the ground shakes with doom and the gods themselves seem against your very existence. 

Grow anyway.