"The Tree"

I wrote this story, which will be shown over many posts, quite a while ago. In fact its coming up on maybe 2 years, before I read any of Tolkien. I say that because I remember when I had Eric read it he said it was Tolkienesque. At first it was only this section with a different ending, but then I decided to expand it and as you will see it turns into something more akin to Douglas Adams.

I saw the tree. Old, dark, barren of leaves and mossy from its dilapidated life deep in the forest. It was the only one of its kind left, surrounded by new birth all around as saplings and seedlings clamored close around the base of its thick, bulbous trunk. Smooth cobblestone littered the soil next to the raised roots of the tree where once flowed a brook through the forest… but no more. Empty now, the tree had seen to that. The rocks like small tombstones are the sole reminder of the long war raged between the elements. The tree had grown enormous from victory, depriving the others of the life giving liquid that it took for granted. Slowly the forest surrounding the tree had begun to darken, the bright colors of the seasons no longer flashed with the vibrancy that they once did. The greed of the tree was slowly killing them off. And as the years passed, as they often do to a forest like a blink of the eye, the tree’s strangle hold began to slip through its splinters. A great drought had overtaken the land and not even the Tree was able to withstand the unrelenting heat, yet the forest began to live again. At any moment the tree’s roots, which spread tentacle-like along the topsoil, were ready to soak up even the smallest drop of rain. For years it had soaked up the easily gathered water until all its roots were at the surface. Meanwhile the rest of the forest deepened its roots hoping to live another day. And their hope was not in vain. Digging, churning, never ceasing the forest had found the one thing that they thirsted for the most. The brook that had seemingly been obliterated on the surface above by the Tree had merely gone into hiding and found a new home deep beneath the earth. Icicles of rock hung from the ceiling of the cave, the evidence of the refugee raindrops that battled their way deep beneath the earth. Forming over a thousand years from a single drop of water, the cave was now a powerful, rushing river. It would eventually find it’s freedom some hundreds of miles later when it reached the deep blue sea. And in the midst of it’s great escape it unwittingly nourished the forest above. All except for the Tree, of course, which stood in opposition to all, including me.

(Originally it ended here with something like this: I straightened up and casually swung the axe, whose handle had been supporting my weight, onto my shoulder. And as I beheld the great Tree I knew... this would be a warm winter.)

to be continued...