It’s starting again.
A chilling breeze weaves through the branches, dancing around each leaf till they shudder and threaten to collapse out of dizziness, leaving the tree shivering in anticipation of what is to come. It retreats in a low, moaning battle-cry which intensifies to a savage howl, calling recruits to its ranks, as it prowls around the tree; pulling a limb here, pushing there; as a cat taunts a helpless mouse in its claws.
They come. They answer the call.
They swirl around the tree, baring their teeth and screech with laughter, savouring their power, until they rise to summon their brothers; the clouds. In a sweeping gesture they gather the clouds, poisoning, tainting their pure hearts with their provocative whispers and vile howls, until the brothers themselves rumble with agitated energy, sparking feuds among themselves.
The tree stands tall amidst the chaos. It reluctantly lets go of its young, its beauty; leaves, flowers, fruits, hiding the corpses among its roots while it nestles the unborn within, drawing strength from their foetal sap; strength to fight back.
The feuds explode in fiery streaks, criss-crossing in bloodlust, renting silvery fissures in the black sky. The tree stands alone, silhouetted against the illuminated chaos; the skeleton of a warrior heavily armed with the will to survive.
Gathering all its might, the wind assaults the tree, tearing through its bare branches, snapping great boughs like brittle twigs.
Suddenly lighting flashes across the sky and licks the braches, defiantly raised heaven-ward, and smoulders the remaining leaves. They catch fire. It spreads. Soon the whole tree blazes red and orange; a devilish apparition.
It continues to burn, accompanied by the hellish shrieks of the wind as it prances gleefully, provoking the flames to leap higher…
A smattering of rain-drops… They singe the flames but the flames only cackle disdainfully; vanishing only to materialize elsewhere; dissolving only to proliferate in an endless dance of mockery.
The frosty rain, dispassionate to the fire’s searing passion, falls on the tree’s burns with increased intensity, momentarily evoking intense pain which transforms into a soothing balm. The vanquished flames flee, hissing eerily… hisses which reverberate with revengeful oaths of a return…
Suddenly losing the trance-like grip of the wind, the clouds despair at the sight of the damage they have helped wreak. They unleash their sorrowful remorse on the charred branches of the trees, weeping with fervour for ruined beauty and life… Sobbed regrets which cannot undo the damage…
Charred.
Mutilated.
Destroyed.
Annihilated.
A charcoal sketch of its former beauty; frail, blackened branches with watery stains of abounding regret.
But the tree still stands. Broken. Damaged. But still strong.
The rain comforts the tree as the night wears on, gently caressing the sore wounds. Their steady rhythm whispering assurances… strengthening the tree. Words of wisdom reassuring the tree that storms do come and wreak havoc but it does not destroy unless you allow it to, it cannot conquer a hopeful soul; you are not defeated unless you chose to be so…
Dawn comes, spreading rose-gold shafts of light which overpower the receding blackness. Hope and life glimmer in the early morning sunshine.
The tendrils of rosy light illuminate a tree; lone and charred…and sheltered beneath the tee a tender, emerald shoot unfurls its leaves, sapping life from the charred nourishment of the tree.
The newborn raises itself to the sky and the sun, and on that peaceful morn revels in the blissful joy of being alive…
Christina De Silva
04 December 2008
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