The Tree Of Life

Solidly alone.

A living, breathing, organism.
Centuries old. Rooted in history.
Mute witness to the cyclicality of civilization.
And the linearity of time

Solitary. Proud. Strong.
Incompatible with today.
A hark back to the times that were.
Before the city lost out to progress and modernity.

A wooden behemoth with soaring trunk. Amidst towers of concrete.
Its girth, real estate, and an impediment to development.
Branches spreading. Like the arterial alleyways all around it.
Foliage, green. Set off against concrete grays and reflective glass.
A cooling canopy of shade-giving arms. Battling the heat radiating off pavements.
Taproot embedded in the very soul of the soil.
That lies beneath superficial layers of cold concrete and asphyxiating asphalt.
Underground sewage, cabling and piping arguing with its lateral offshoots.
Toxins of urbania denying them nourishment. Gnawing at its vitals.
Vandals hacking away at its branches.
A chainsaw, an axe, a scythe.
Much like what’s happening to society today.
Use. Abuse. Take for granted. Then throw away.

Throngs of thousands scurrying about.
Unappreciative. Unnoticing of its majesty.
Until they run out of oxygen to breathe.

Standing, seeing, silently suffering, surviving. Barely just.
Gnarled and knobbly. Aging but upright.
Obliging, never asking.
Chipped bark, crying tears of sap.
Not yet a log but knowing the imminence its fate.
And that of this city, which has lost its moral timber.

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