There are branches swaying in the wind.
They’re knotted twigs. Black. Uneasy. Apprehensive.
There, attached to those branches, is a tree writhing in pain.
Like gnarled joints resulting from arthritis.
Imagine that.
The tumultuous grey purple sky overshadowing it all.
Imagine that.
Imagine, imagine the forceful wind.
Blowing… blowing;
a never ending cycle of cold, blinding pressure.
It blows. It blows.
Letting up for a second or two, envisioning its victim huddling into itself,
cringing…. hoping.
The tree feels some relief as the wind slows down;
that relief only to be followed by a feeling.
It feels the wind swell again with a new resolve.
New strength. New pressure.
Imagine that.
Relief succumbs to helplessness as the tree finds itself alone
Utterly alone.
Its tendrils twisting, turning, crying out in pain.
No sound comes out. It is a silent pain.
Its roots sink further into Mother Earth, hoping to find her warm embrace
a presence of something truly regal and spectacular,
but it’s still cold.
Frigid. Empty. Windy.
Everything around it is shattering into pieces of insignificant nothingness.
Imagine that.
Its roots sink deeper and deeper into the darkened crevice below.
Bracing itself.
Holding on to the glimmer of hope at the Earth’s core.
Hope that the storm will pass. Hope that it will survive.
Not only survive in the definitive sense, but really, truly survive.
Survive with a new outlook; a bright one.
So it hopes.
It hopes that it will be courageous and innately strong enough
to dig itself deeper into the soil, where it is warm and safe.
It digs itself deeper: through the hurt; through the fear; through the ease.
The ease and simplicity of giving up and giving in.
Surrender. After this unbearable pain it would be a sweet surrender, would it not?
What will become of this tree,
this unique, beautiful, extraordinary tree?
It’s forced to make a choice.
A choice between two powerful entities.
Between yield and attack. Between fight and flight.
The wind continues to batter, press, push, and sneer.
Oh, it’s his remarkable ability,
to transform that malevolent smile into sound.
Laughter. Howling. Shrieking.
The swirls and gusts of air gain momentum…
The tree is full of contemplation.
What will become of me? What can I do?
Why this? Why me?
The glimmer of hope gets reduced to a fleck of dirt.
It’s almost imperceptible.
It’s almost non-existent, but it’s still there.
The tree is still there.
Holding on.
Never let go. Never let go.
Raise your arms to the sky;
above the domineering and despondent clouds
to the brilliant, saving light above.
It’s there. The blue sky is there.
It’s only a storm.
Hold on. Hold on.
Never let go. Never let go.
Imagine that.
12/20/2009 -Stefanie Lynn DaCosta
US Copyright Office 12/20/2009