Tree on a Beach


Storm’s comin’. I can feel it in the air.
The wind navigates through my hair,
And splashes dry sand around the skin of my feet.
The gusts have a moist texture and they fly south,
Away from the coming storm.
Same with the birds in the distance.

The clouds are dark and creep so close to the ground that they seem to be touching the mound of blue dirt that covers the horizon.
They are like a giant space ship enshrouding the earth.
Except on those blue sand mounds.
A pinch of white sun is cast there.

Up ahead I see a small tree.
It rests low above the ground,
For it bends south.
This tree is somewhat inviting,
But very unsettling, nonetheless.
It looks withered; dead,
But alive enough to warn of quick-moving peril.
Its thin, sinuous trunk is gray and battered.
The number of dry leaves is barely greater than the number of branches.
It moves with the watery wind.

“Get out of here!” it says.
“Get out of here, before it’s too late! There is little time!”
This tree is like a friend to me.
I can’t just leave it behind.
It is weak and timid.
If this tree had arms it would embrace me and shelter me.
It would take the beatings of the storm and make sure I was comforted.
I wish I could do the same…
But I can’t.

The wind picks up speed.
Lightning strikes overhead looking like a fault-line in the sky.
I start to leave and tears begin to drip from the tree’s branches.
I cry with it as I grope over the blue sand mounds
And into the undying horizon.

The storm is closer.
It will not be long until my friend is disintegrated like the rest of the wind.
If it were up to me I would keep my friend like a king in a courtyard of stone.
Its roots would go deep and drink from the waters of immortality.

But that dream is lost.
I really miss that tree.