I’m a tree. Calm and ponderous; the antithesis of modern life. It’s a nice life, unburdened by the pressure to move on and move forward. Where I am now is where I always have been and where I always will be.

Why hello bird, I greet the blue jay that perches on my branch. It seems I’ll have a new tenant. It’s on a mission to gather twigs to build a nest. Back and forth across the forest, the bird flies from tree to tree.

We come to an agreement, the bird and me. I provide a home and the bird spreads my seeds for me. I won’t last forever, but I’d like to leave a legacy, and the birds help me do that. In my life, I’ve provided shelter to many an animal. I’ve watched dozens of lives and deaths.

I witness the moon chase the sun in a never-ending exercise in futility. Time passes and the blue jay has a family. The nest perched in my branch now has 3 baby birds, chirping for food from their mother. I don’t know what happened to the father, it disappeared long ago. But they seem to be doing fine on their own, the family of birds thriving day after day. I see the babies start to fly, and they are gone too soon. They’ve gone to make nests of their own and the mother is now an empty nester.

The mother grows old, she become slow and ponderous; just like I have been its whole time. One day, it falls on the ground and becomes nutrients for my roots. I thank it for its life and for it’s death. It was a good companion.

Not even a week later, I see movement along the ground. It’s a human passing by. I see the human a few more times in the coming days.

The human came today with things in its hands, maybe it would like to make a nest amongst my branches. It carefully folds a thin slice of my deceased brethren in half and puts it in its clothing.

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I see tears falling down its face.

Don’t cry little one, you’ve found a home to make your own. There’s no need to be sad, this should be a joyous occasion.

The human makes its nest in a strange manner. One end of the twine is wrapped around one of my branches and the other is tied into a loop the size of its head.

That can’t possibly be comfortable, I wonder. Shouldn’t a forever home be something you take great care in? Times like these I wish I wasn’t a tree. But these moments are always fleeting, for I am exactly what I am meant to be. I am a tree, and it is a human. Neither of us are perfect, but that’s what makes us perfect.

The human takes out a sharp tool and carves into my bark. I don’t mind, it’s always good to customize your home.

It takes out the slice of my dead brethren. It gazes at it for a long while, as if contemplating something.

The human seems to be in a hurry, as if it wants to get this over with. But it has all the time in the world; I won’t abandon it. I can’t, after all, I’m a tree. Despite being the one stuck in the ground, I am the freer of us two.

The human seems to come to a decision. It climbs up to the branch it tied its home to and puts the other end around its neck. It then looks towards the ground.

It’s very high up from the ground. I’ve had a long time to grow as a tree, and the branch the human is on is twice its height.

The human takes a deep breath before jumping off the branch, its neck still tied to one end of its new home.

I’m curious, I’ve never seen this type of home before. It doesn’t seem comfortable, but what do I know? I’m just a tree.

Its new home tightens as it’s stretched to its limits. I make an executive decision and make my branch break. I can’t in good conscious let the human sleep like that.

The human falls to the ground, its knees crumble and its legs fold backwards.

Slowly, the human stands up. It looks up at where the branch used to be and starts to laugh. The human starts kicking my trunk, but it’s okay. I let it get its anger out. Maybe now it’ll build a proper home to rest amongst my branches.

It starts to walk away, dropping its note and leaving its old home lying on the ground.

I never see the human again, though I do see one many years later. It has over a hundred slices of my dead brethren in its hands. It just stares at me for a long while, visiting every now and then while moving a stick along the slices. It does this for many cycles of the sun and moon, at least 30. On the last visit, the human takes out a sharp tool and carves into my bark alongside the previous human’s mark.

Then, just like the other human it disappears never to be seen again. Maybe it found a suitable home, just like the previous human.

If it ever shows up again, I’ll be here, waiting.