The Life of Me

I am a tree and these are my confessions.
I was born in 1956 in a bustling urban area.
When I was a naive dumpy chunk of wood, I would see my owner, a young boy joyously scamper to my position in a vast building’s boxy yard. He would caringly quench my thirst with endless water, glittering magnificently at noon when the cleansing blinding sun would reveal itself from behind my building companion.
Those unripe years were my cheeriest. I would watch the shiny cars rush through the narrow unmaintained streets who would all admire my lush green leaves. Sometimes, the wind would heave my thick branches and I’d stretch, but always failed to touch the conspicious brightly coloured cars. Also, fascinating pedestrians would all cease their walking in front of me and stare, inspired by my profuse leaves. I loved to hear their compliments.
Then, after an entertaining day, the boy would scurry to my side and ascend my rigid trunk. I was amazed by his nimbleness. I would whisper encouragement and attempt to open up my door of vision. I truly delighted in his tranquilly sitting on my lap and we would together be dazzled by the beautiful city. Further, it felt good when he stroked my firm coarse bark, carefully removing harmful insects. I would let him have one of my leaves. Somehow it was comfortable when he gently removed an invitingly green and soft leaf.
One day, maybe the most grim of my life, I witnessed an innocent enough car wallop my dear young friend. To see his glowing grin just evaporate, his nice strawberry scent fade and his excited nature simply morph into a wisp of air was depressing.
Following a few years of mourning the death, still hallucinating the dense crimson pool at his unmoving corpse, I was taken out, luckily along with some of my soil friends.
I went into a massive truck and was imprisoned in the horrible dark compartment for almost two days!
Finally they took me out, exposing my wary body to new light and a new scene. It was a community park booming with verdurous grass and thriving butterflies and I was just another thing. I hated it. People just walked by me like I was an apparition. Clapping my branches and whispering alluringly didn’t entice them. I thought they were lame.
Worst of all, two mischeivious-looking teens always came up to me and used long razor-sharp metal rods to engrave obscene language into my righteous body. I bled, sap oozing out and covering my entire trunk.
The one pro to that journey was when a young happy-go-lucky kid sat under me, peacefully enjoying the surroundings. I loved providing him with shade from the blistering heat and I loved the sun so I was killing two birds with one stone. Not that I have ever done that or ever will do it or even dislike gorgeously singing birds lined with neatly combed feathers and gracefully soaring through the blue.
Then, after quite a while, suffering the same old expected days over and over this corrupt unhygenic man who donned filthy overalls, way to big for him dug me out and put me into a little humid house with clear walls where I was shadowed by the presence of other plants. And they were boring. They would never talk to me.
This horrid place is where I sit now, awaiting for an accomplice to help me escape.

The Life of Me


Joined January 2008

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Artist's Description

This piece is simplistic and amusing. It is about the absurd life of a tree.

Artwork Comments

  • Sally Omar
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