The Tree

It is the Tree of life and death. Of pain and beauty. It is the tree of harmony and of contradictions. Its fruit is bittersweet, its flowers smell of irony, and its thorns are the consequences in every choice. Everyone knows of this Tree, from the tiniest, unborn baby to the oldest of the old who lay on the edge of icy death. Even those who have been deprived of their senses know of its existence. Because the Tree is everywhere. Perhaps it is in your backyard, or maybe in a park you used to play in as a child. Perhaps you have not seen the Tree with your eyes. Perhaps you have only heard the birds that scream taunts and fears and clich├ęs from the Tree's twisting branches. Perhaps you experienced the smell of its flowers, borne on a summer's breeze from far away. Perhaps you have tasted its fruit or felt the prick of its many sharp thorns. No matter how you know, you know the Tree. The Tree knows you, as well. It knows your secrets and your doubts, your mistakes and triumphs. The Tree knows all and sees all. It is watching.

It is the Tree of life and death. Of pain and beauty. It is the Tree of harmony and of contradictions.

IT IS THE TREE.