A poem about an old tree, by C. Christiansen.
Long ago, when the world was younger than the one you know
A seed fell upon the land of the far north. I was born.
My cradle was not soft, but it was simple and austere.
The soil was hard, the air was pure, and the days frigid,
But I had been born aloft on colder winds as a seed,
And though I did not know or seem it, I was hearty stock.
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I set upon the highlands, where the stones near kissed the clouds,
And the forest-friends below resembled the green-blue sea
Shrouded in mist, where things were more pleasant, and easier.
I endured, high upon my vantage pinnacle, alone
Content in the company of shrubs, and the singing birds
Who brought to me tales of the valleys and lands far below.
When I first sought to grow, I found myself disappointed
I had to crack at the frost for moisture, the rock for food
And my effort left me bent, dense, balding before my time
But I saw the change in the “men”-creatures of the valley
How they nurtured the straight and firm for the sake of timber
And I resolved to my roots that looks were not everything.
So I dug deeper and deeper, stable and reassured
I put all that I had into my immortal root-ways
Gales blew me hard about, ice gnawed at me, lightning singed me
But like the flame-cousin of the songbirds, I rose anew
A request to the feathered-ones saw them bring me the news
Of what I had slumbering missed, though little often changed.
Though as time went by, I heard more and more of these “humans”
How they had managed to tame stone and earth, wood and fire
It struck me how much they killed, every time I saw the beasts
They held tree-bone in hand, and wore pelts upon their bare backs
But I noticed in turn that they had no roots beneath them
And I thought on how such a fragile creature must struggle.
The bird-song and root-whispers brought me word from far and wide
Tales that humans had built new mountains, and wielded earth-blood
That they had crafted a new life-death cycle for themselves
Apart from the green and brown one that I had always known
One day I tried telling the clouds that now I would strike them
To see if there was some draw to the way these humans thought.
Many sunrises past, days to me, years to the fleet ones
The birds seemed to only talk of the doings of humans
Yet more struggle, more death. I felt bad for the poor mortals
I had seen many of my own kind pass away by now
Perhaps I saw more of myself in the flesh-and-blood things
I sent my roots deeper, and thought on how much time I had
There was once my trunk fell, as it was sometimes want to do
And I slept a long while, hoping for warmer weather
When I woke again the land was temperate, air acrid
But my view from the high cliff seemed as unchanged as ever
The birds returned, and I asked them of the beasts of the land
They only had more terrific tales of the man-creatures.
They had discovered new soil across the near ocean
Trees had told birds had told rats had told birds had told myself
What fantastic new tales they had to tell of this far place
The humans had done what they always did: die in large droves
The concept had become more and more alien to me
Millions had come and gone in my singular lifetime
Hardened earth-blood was to humans what my roots were to me
The means by which they endured through the trials of nature
Though I had never harmed a living being with my roots
Save for a goat which had once tripped on an old protrusion
I stopped my listening to the birds’ stories for some time
Always the same, I just wanted to enjoy the new warmth.
I found myself growing saddened by these human stories
They sounded such a—hasty grove, violent and unrooted
As I grew older and older I felt a distance form
All was fleeting, brief, even my kin in the deep valley
I felt lonely. Perhaps I had rooted myself too deep?
Resigned to a life long, yes, but hollow, like a dead trunk
It was then a certain creature came to me. A human.
So different they had become; pale and leaved in odd hues
But this one spoke to me, he looked upon my boundless roots
He remarked on my age with great respect and reverence
He gave me a name, something not even the birds had done
He brought his kind to just—gaze upon me. To see my age.
And so here I stand, just as I have for millennia.
Though in recent days I’ve found myself much more company
These human-things who come look at me, tell me more stories
Of kin like me who had set their roots deep, and lasted long
Who hold the wisdom of having watched the two-legs grow up
They heap such praise upon me, dearest things. I am humbled.
I think back to when I was but a seed upon a cliff
And I set my roots deeper, to see what tales will come next.
