The Tree Stands in Protest

“I looked up to the tree and sounded a desperate cry, receiving nothing in return” – anon.

I stumbled through town with an eye of consternation at the throbbing, toxic hum of modernity that strangles our existence. The blazing lights and blaring horns of passing lorries – the ferocious street lamps fighting against a simple dark – the swirling masses of litter – the constant drone of progress with no end piercing the ear – and the faces; faces of those just as lost, unsure, afraid, seeking a fragment of solace in the false warmth of a society rubbed bleeding and raw by the chains of progress

But amongst the chaos stood the Tree. Whether alone in the square, arranged in unnatural rows along sleeping residential streets or skulking in the shadows of a walled garden, the Tree remained silently resolute. Their furrowed bark, slender boughs, frail twigs and tender leaves tell of a time-forgot, of the ancient unknown from whence we came and where we all shall return.

It was then that I realised that the Tree stands silent not out of fear, nor from indifference to the current human condition. No, in silence, the Tree stands in protest. Until we turn metal teeth to each and every last trunk or poison the air and water so they can no longer live, the Tree will stand together with our natural souls, forbidding us to forget that within we are all as equals, all children of a paradise now lost but easily re-found.

As they throw their perfect shadows across the pavement under a burning sun, shed their leaves to kick about our nervous feet, or offer shelter during a passing storm we live in communion with the Tree, and let their roots wrap around our shattered hearts, our sundered souls, to plunge us into the soil and Earth.

Twined together the Tree will guide us where man’s monuments won’t – give us light where they seek to cast only cruel darkness – release chains that have lingered red around our wrists – give strength across malevolent seas – smash our bars over the rocks and beat our chest to the storms –  breathe in and out the gales – craft destinies as the hero(ine)s did before us – so we can join once more in the forever oscillating strings of infinity that forge this symphony we call so crudely LIFE

Images created using a home-made camera.

The Millennial Ecologist

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