The jealous tree

Micro shorts: Christmas Edition No.1

December is the month of seasonal celebrations. It’s a month accompanied by a change of attitude; many of us become a little more charitable, kinder, and softer. And then there are those who swing the other way, the cold air freezes their hearts and locks their minds in a scrooge-like mood. I wonder which way you’ve swung. I hope, for your sake and those around you, you've avoided the latter. Anyway, all that is to say, I've written some shorts based around December and its seasonal shake-up. Enjoy the first edition. 

There was a time when we would grow until we could no longer, emptying the soil beneath us of its nutrition and water. Then, once we reach our peak, we drop our acorns before eventually following them to the floor. I know it because I have the memories locked inside me, encircled by each year of growth. And when I am felled, or fall on my own accord, those that grow from my seed will have the same memories locked inside of them, plus one extra. I’m telling you this to help you understand why I feel the way I do. I’m wrong to feel the way I do; the life of a tree is free from many of the troubles those who walk around me carry. I have no place to be, nor do I have a stomach that growls or feet that ache. I’m spared the existential angst; those questions are answered from the start. It’s how I know I will live on within those yet-to-grow.

But, even with this existence, I’m sad. Forces work in this new world that cannot be explained in the lives I have lived before. They are ideas born from seeds only just invented. We are different from those on two feet; we cannot adapt as quickly as they can. One moment knocking flints together, the next flicking a switch. They run from place to place, paddling their seasonless world forwards. I suppose it’s why they rejoin the earth sooner than we do.

But it is not their ability to adapt or their need to flatten out the seasons that bothers me. We have always had a give-and-take relationship. Our world is so finely balanced that neither I nor they can live without the other. Perhaps we have a better chance than they do. But now, they take, and we give. It is a year-long cycle. Worsened when the days shorten and the air bites with frost. At this time of year, they are not appeased with their usual haul. They want a fresh tree growing inside their stone boxes. But, it is not me they want. My leafless branches aren’t pretty enough for them. They look for trees that could have been pulled out of their imagination. Evergreens fit the bill well enough and they are taken in the millions. Inside they are fed water and adorned with a web of lights and pretty lobes that hang, reflecting the light like precious jewels. And it is not even the harvest of the trees which bothers me. Instead, to my shame, I am saddened by the mere fact that trees like me will never twinkle so brightly or bring so much joy to those who keep them. Come to think of it, they never even notice me, even those who walk past often enough that the vibrations of their feet are familiar. The only creatures who care are the ones that always have. Birds nest on my branches, dogs use my base to mark their territory, and cats climb my trunk to avoid the dogs.

Sometimes when the used trees are brought out, dry and stripped bare, I do not feel so bad. But sometimes ideas come to you, and you cannot discard them on a street corner.