“Go ahead, and begin your quick write,” said Mr. Greene, and I was ushered into a world of words.

“No matter what you do, be writing for the entirety of the twelve minutes,” he added.

Beside me, you sit in silent solitude. I glimpse a hint of loneliness in your eyes, and I wonder for how long you have been sitting here. Your roots stretch around you, creating a winding circle, like a coiled dragon. As I intently observe you, a symphony of sounds surround us - the rhythmic ‘hoot-hoot’ of birds, the woodpeckers' relentless drumming, and the whimsical rustling of leaves. 

I now realize that you are home to many living things, who understand your value, unlike the students and teachers that pass by you every day. I can only fathom to be silently neglected and rarely appreciated by others when possessing such beauty. 

Yet I can see a hint of positivity in your eyes. At the very top of your trunk, the leaves have begun to turn into a red-orange color. This is an indication of the beginning of fall. It will only be a matter of weeks before you shed your foliage, only to embark on a fresh cycle of growth.

“Twelve minutes are up, class. If you’ve been observing, thinking, and writing for the entirety of this time, give yourselves a pat on the back.”

As everybody stood back up to go inside the classroom, I stayed back for a moment longer, wanting to finish my quick write. What had previously seemed as though it was a waste of time, now came back to impact me, and teach me a new lesson: the importance of observation, thought, and writing. 

Thanks, Mr. Greene.