| dreams of a tree |
| By David Kidney |
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There I was, minding my own business. The wind was rustling the few leaves left on my branches. It felt good. Suddenly without warning a buzzing sound filled the forest...frightening the cardinal who had nested in my higher reaches. I saw the streak of red, escaping, and felt a sharp pain on a lower branch. This was it. I knew the day would come. I began to dream... |
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I didn't mind the pain.
This was what I was here for. Would I be carved into a shape, maybe a cardinal, nested in a branch, coloured red and admired.
Perhaps I'd be sliced into boards and formed into a rocking chair for someone's grandmother. This thought comforted me. |
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My grain might be so beautiful, that bookended I'd form the back and sides of a guitar. I knew my tone would be rich and deep. I felt sure that my time in the afterlife would be rewarding, and I would make beautiful music. |
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I could hear the music.
It was getting warm.
No.
It was getting hot.
I awoke from my musical reverie as the flames scorched the bark from my sides. The smoke clouded my thoughts. I choked back a tear.
It sizzled.
I gave up struggling and collapsed into the heap of ashes and embers and dreams and dust.
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