Humanity, the tree asserts, is rather terrible.
The tree sits at the top of a mountain, the first to greet the golden sun rising to meet the calls of birdsong. It is the last to bid farewell to the orange and pink and violet sunsets. It tracks the swirling constellations unobstructed, feels the most delightful fingers of wind scratch through its branches, attracts the loudest and proudest birds to its swaying boughs.
And it is because of this great height that the tree guards all life on the mountain. It greets the sun, and so it bears the scorch of the hottest rays on sunny afternoons. It stretches tall as a desperate beacon to the lightning: "hit me, I'm right here. Please don't strike the others." It reaches its branches across the other trees, giving shade and expecting none in return. Humans have a tradition of extending branches towards one another as promises of peace, acknowledgment, well-wishing; where do you think they got that idea?
The human children who live in the valley below like to scale the mountain and, of course, the tree. The tree has supported generations of humans. Reckless children daring each other to climb higher and higher, infatuated summer lovers seeking a shaded retreat, tired workers in need of a simple afternoon of solitude. Tattoos of names and hearts and symbols wind around the tree's trunk in a ring more permanent than the humans' gold bands. At its roots, the tree has shaded poets, orators, adventurers, artists, and creators of all kinds. It has loved each and every one of these brave, foolish, terrible, wonderful humans.
The tree cherishes the moments where humans find protection in its shade. But when they retreat back down into the valley, the tree can only see their humanity.
It watches the river that runs along the base of the mountain enter as a clear, bubbling spring and leave, gray and spotted with trash, a little more sluggish than before. It watches the birds that sung so sweetly grow quiet as their throats are blocked by plastics left at the base of the tree's trunk after delightful picnics. It watches the factory downstream spitting out warm clothes for the children and black soot that will stick to the forest's leaves. It watches thick cables swinging across the mountain, tracking the paths of would-be birds, and it watches the glittering sparks that jump from the cables morph into too-warm blankets of flame, tucking the forest of the mountain into a deep sleep.
The tree knows that as the top of the mountain, it will be the last tree touched by humanity. The climbing flames will reach it after all other trees have suffered.
Humans also have a tradition where the general leads their troops into battle. The tree years to be given that chance, now. But its battles were always designed to come from above.
As night settles over the mountain, the tree is helpless in this living nightmare. It watches the fierce, glowing blanket of fire creep slowly upwards, a hostile echo of the waves of humanity that so loved to scale the mountain. Those humans were so lovely, it reflects. Humanity is terrible.
Abby Boquist loves running, creating skits with her Odyssey of the Mind team, and hanging out with friends and family (including her cat, Cheerio!) She is planning on majoring in Secondary English Education next year in college.