The Last Tree - Writing club
All those years ago, when the dark soil moved and gave me my first view, above me a great light and a wondrous blue. Through the branches dancing and the birds who flew, I looked up in wonder at all this that was new.
Slowly I reached up, pushing nearer to the blue. My branches reaching out proudly, meeting all around me. The flutter of a birds wing, a moth as he perched, a butterfly showed me colours that I had never seen, could not possibly have been. And all the while the wind blew and bought with it something new, a tickle, some warmth and a sudden icy dew.
A leaf picked up and carried away, a flutter and a tear as a leaf dropped down there. And the wind never stopped until I was left bare.
He pulled me and whipped me and covered me in frost. Everything seemed to stand quite still. The sky above me darkened and my fellow trees creaked beneath its chill. A carpet of white under drops of snow. Melting liquid covered my branches and fell puddles onto the rotting leaves, drowning below.
Slowly I reached up, pushing nearer to the blue. My branches reaching out proudly, meeting all around me. The flutter of a birds wing, a moth as he perched, a butterfly showed me colours that I had never seen, could not possibly have been. And all the while the wind blew and bought with it something new, a tickle, some warmth and a sudden icy dew.
A leaf picked up and carried away, a flutter and a tear as a leaf dropped down there. And the wind never stopped until I was left bare.
He pulled me and whipped me and covered me in frost. Everything seemed to stand quite still. The sky above me darkened and my fellow trees creaked beneath its chill. A carpet of white under drops of snow. Melting liquid covered my branches and fell puddles onto the rotting leaves, drowning below.
That first winter. Oh how it blew, never ending as it stripped my branches of life and my bark of all that had been new. And then on the wind came the warmth of Spring, massaging it’s heat between my Branches. Birds sang and animals chased each other and then came a tickle as a new leaf pushed itself through. A sky of blue and a family of green and all the while basking in the Sun’s sheen: as life beneath her flourished and grew.
Many years passed before I knew to understand this death of life and then the start anew. This cycle of old and new as I stood and grew. We were helpless to the will of the wind that moved the clouds above and the ground below and the seasons around us, and the light to and fro.
And life went on around us and bought more trees that whispered and birds who sung and insects that kept creeping and climbing and leaves who danced and fell and plants which grew.
And then one day there was man. And guns: And the colour Red: And the screech of grey, And the World stopped. The World simply stopped turning beneath us.
At first it was whispers and then it was the cut of soil as it was moved around us, and the squelch of the spade as it tore at the mud. Then it was the creeping and the weeping of men and the scratch of paper and the dull light of torches and the silence of fear. The soil crushed beneath heavy boots and heavier hearts. How small we all looked under that great sky.
The black sky mirrored the lights of the many men and one by one the clouds rolled over and shut them out. And someone turned out the light. And someone opened the heavens. And down rained a retribution of metal and grey and up rose angry flames from below. And branches splintered and trunks fell and red filled the soil and the World stopped breathing. When we woke, silently, not quite believing that we ever could again we saw ourselves standing almost alone. Branches twisted in the wind that searched and scanned and reported this barren land, whispering as it went.
And then came the creeping of men, over the top of their soil hideouts. Silently they marched the land between them as insects buzzed towards them, past this ones ear and through that ones head and caught in my branches and stuck in his leg and over his head and bounced off the soil and struck that ones hand and this ones chest as he fell dead. And men shouted and screamed and tried to run and hide. Then a shot from behind found the wrong head and a look of shock as down he went: dead. Some turned in confusion and fear and searching for life found only another gun here.
And bombs flew through the air. ‘Retreat, retreat’ but try as I might I simply could not. My roots had sunk deep into the earth for safety and food and for life and the answer to questions they had once known. But now these chains pulling me met only death as it seeped into the soil and coloured it red.
And in a blink I was all alone. Tall and wounded amongst shattered branches and broken bodies and the burning embers of all my friends lost. And everything was quiet, not even the wind dared whisper. The sky looked down on us in shock, the clouds barely rolling by. Not even the creeping of Autumn was felt amongst the burnt ashes of leaves and men. There was no life to be taken here for all was bare. And all was already gone. And not even a bird could find its song. And still I didn’t know how life had found this wrong.
The bodies of men sank into the ground and clung to the roots that they found and forced themselves into the seedlings that pushed up and out of the ground and into that view of the great big blue.
And I was the only shadow they found. Tall and strong and holding on. Watching the little saplings fight to be reborn amongst the shells and the metal of this great field of battle over which I now reigned. Slowly metal was covered by earth and the once deep trenches had grown into shallow scars, freshly covered in grass. Simply a now uneven path that whispered of memories that only I could impart. I could feel deep within my bark the scars that bore the story out of which I had triumphed above all others. And my roots stretched wider and deeper and crushed everything in their path. And the saplings that sprouted marvelled in awe at the one tree that stood tall, that had matured and over taken them all.
And all the while men pulled at my roots and talked of friends lost and I let my roots simply push them further down out of the light. I would not remember what had stood before. Like Autumn before her, who stripped us of life, war had simply come and taken all but my Kingly core.
And the saplings grew towards the light and watched their leaves fall into the ground below and stood cold in the wind and warm in the sun. And they looked to me for guidance and some reached as if to grow taller but height wouldn’t change what grew beneath them. My strength, my years of roots pushed out encroaching trees and held firmly to the expanse of soil beneath me fed by the bones and the long silence of them, my fallen soldiers.
And then planes flew overhead, searching out cities, leaving behind them the droning sound of war. And once again the Earth began to rumble with the once familiar sounds of men. And we all held our breath as soldiers with familiar voices, traced our lands, our new woods. This time much fewer simply marching on through. Never stopping to hide in soil graves. My roots clung desperately to the soil below and tried to release the long crushed bones of men. Fear took over my branches until they were almost still. Not again. Please, please not again.
But war stayed in the distance and only the planes bought news of another battle in a land unseen. And trains rumbled in the distance, carrying people to God knows where.
And the Saplings grew and grew and the World kept turning and I shrank beneath them all, trying to hide from the memory of that fateful summer which had took all my friends away. And left me alone and abandoned and angry and blameless and guilt free and so I’d grown important and tall and reigned over the newlings and crushed what I had once knew.
And now I watched as once again the World screamed down War around me and I wondered what all of it had been for. And I wept leaves and shivered and let life around me flourish and watched them twist branches in search of answers.
And now Soldiers marched heavy inland and swarmed over these lands and new accents whispered plans until once again there was silence and men disappeared and the birds started singing and the sun shone more brightly and the trees swayed gently and animals dived between branches and the shells from before hid themselves further into the floor.
And a building was planted and white crosses galore and a fence placed around me and a plaque of awe, for here stood the last tree of that very first Great War to remind us of survival and the horrors of before. A wood can be a stripped bare and race nearly stamped out but soon new life comes along and stamps your evil out.
Many years passed before I knew to understand this death of life and then the start anew. This cycle of old and new as I stood and grew. We were helpless to the will of the wind that moved the clouds above and the ground below and the seasons around us, and the light to and fro.
And life went on around us and bought more trees that whispered and birds who sung and insects that kept creeping and climbing and leaves who danced and fell and plants which grew.
And then one day there was man. And guns: And the colour Red: And the screech of grey, And the World stopped. The World simply stopped turning beneath us.
At first it was whispers and then it was the cut of soil as it was moved around us, and the squelch of the spade as it tore at the mud. Then it was the creeping and the weeping of men and the scratch of paper and the dull light of torches and the silence of fear. The soil crushed beneath heavy boots and heavier hearts. How small we all looked under that great sky.
The black sky mirrored the lights of the many men and one by one the clouds rolled over and shut them out. And someone turned out the light. And someone opened the heavens. And down rained a retribution of metal and grey and up rose angry flames from below. And branches splintered and trunks fell and red filled the soil and the World stopped breathing. When we woke, silently, not quite believing that we ever could again we saw ourselves standing almost alone. Branches twisted in the wind that searched and scanned and reported this barren land, whispering as it went.
And then came the creeping of men, over the top of their soil hideouts. Silently they marched the land between them as insects buzzed towards them, past this ones ear and through that ones head and caught in my branches and stuck in his leg and over his head and bounced off the soil and struck that ones hand and this ones chest as he fell dead. And men shouted and screamed and tried to run and hide. Then a shot from behind found the wrong head and a look of shock as down he went: dead. Some turned in confusion and fear and searching for life found only another gun here.
And bombs flew through the air. ‘Retreat, retreat’ but try as I might I simply could not. My roots had sunk deep into the earth for safety and food and for life and the answer to questions they had once known. But now these chains pulling me met only death as it seeped into the soil and coloured it red.
And in a blink I was all alone. Tall and wounded amongst shattered branches and broken bodies and the burning embers of all my friends lost. And everything was quiet, not even the wind dared whisper. The sky looked down on us in shock, the clouds barely rolling by. Not even the creeping of Autumn was felt amongst the burnt ashes of leaves and men. There was no life to be taken here for all was bare. And all was already gone. And not even a bird could find its song. And still I didn’t know how life had found this wrong.
The bodies of men sank into the ground and clung to the roots that they found and forced themselves into the seedlings that pushed up and out of the ground and into that view of the great big blue.
And I was the only shadow they found. Tall and strong and holding on. Watching the little saplings fight to be reborn amongst the shells and the metal of this great field of battle over which I now reigned. Slowly metal was covered by earth and the once deep trenches had grown into shallow scars, freshly covered in grass. Simply a now uneven path that whispered of memories that only I could impart. I could feel deep within my bark the scars that bore the story out of which I had triumphed above all others. And my roots stretched wider and deeper and crushed everything in their path. And the saplings that sprouted marvelled in awe at the one tree that stood tall, that had matured and over taken them all.
And all the while men pulled at my roots and talked of friends lost and I let my roots simply push them further down out of the light. I would not remember what had stood before. Like Autumn before her, who stripped us of life, war had simply come and taken all but my Kingly core.
And the saplings grew towards the light and watched their leaves fall into the ground below and stood cold in the wind and warm in the sun. And they looked to me for guidance and some reached as if to grow taller but height wouldn’t change what grew beneath them. My strength, my years of roots pushed out encroaching trees and held firmly to the expanse of soil beneath me fed by the bones and the long silence of them, my fallen soldiers.
And then planes flew overhead, searching out cities, leaving behind them the droning sound of war. And once again the Earth began to rumble with the once familiar sounds of men. And we all held our breath as soldiers with familiar voices, traced our lands, our new woods. This time much fewer simply marching on through. Never stopping to hide in soil graves. My roots clung desperately to the soil below and tried to release the long crushed bones of men. Fear took over my branches until they were almost still. Not again. Please, please not again.
But war stayed in the distance and only the planes bought news of another battle in a land unseen. And trains rumbled in the distance, carrying people to God knows where.
And the Saplings grew and grew and the World kept turning and I shrank beneath them all, trying to hide from the memory of that fateful summer which had took all my friends away. And left me alone and abandoned and angry and blameless and guilt free and so I’d grown important and tall and reigned over the newlings and crushed what I had once knew.
And now I watched as once again the World screamed down War around me and I wondered what all of it had been for. And I wept leaves and shivered and let life around me flourish and watched them twist branches in search of answers.
And now Soldiers marched heavy inland and swarmed over these lands and new accents whispered plans until once again there was silence and men disappeared and the birds started singing and the sun shone more brightly and the trees swayed gently and animals dived between branches and the shells from before hid themselves further into the floor.
And a building was planted and white crosses galore and a fence placed around me and a plaque of awe, for here stood the last tree of that very first Great War to remind us of survival and the horrors of before. A wood can be a stripped bare and race nearly stamped out but soon new life comes along and stamps your evil out.
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