One Is Enough

In a distant desolate desert stands a solitary tree.

Rain has visited not for months – temperature frequented in extremities instead and each time, becoming bolder in its deadly theft. Dead is the surrounding shrubbery, but dying the tree is not. Drooping not, bent neither, westward the tree leans, standing solid until beckons home it. Deep are the roots, thick is the trunk and dense are the leaves. Defies its eventuality the tree does.

The tree knows its fate.

It understands not the necessity behind the natural order of things. It is a mere tree in the grand scheme of things. The solitary tree was born in solitude to demonstrate the continuity of life. The solitary tree was born in solitude to die.

The tree accepts its fate.

It does not accept the circumstances surrounding its fate. Sun beats down on it. So does Rain. And Hail. And Wind. The tree bows down to none. Moon sneers at it. So do Stars. And Sand. And Shadow. The tree stands tall to all.

The tree understands its fate.

It leans westward. Standing solid. Until home beckons it.

In a distant desolate desert, a solitary tree stands.