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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Lone Tree The autumn day has been muffled up in thick scarf and rainproof jacket until darkness, countryside darkness, clambers gradually over the horizon; silence, stillness obediently at its heels. Then black the night, wild the sea and the lone tree stands tall, branches muscled, trunk heavily rooted, protective of its remaining leaves. Next morning springs up; a multi-coloured umbrella! It begins listening attentively to the whisperings of the lone tree teaching its remainder of leaves their tables, i.e. how many wooden tables could be cut from a certain sized tree? Then suddenly scampering beneath is the wind whistling a perky rendition of, “Good Golly, Miss Molly!” Then pulling and pushing at the tree's branches, it plucks at the helpless, hapless, hued canopy until only a few leaves remain, until only.. one remains; a trapeze artist swinging from a high branch. The lone tree now stares helplessly towards the hills where its cousins, the evergreens, hold arms as they dance gaily down a staggered slope while a well-trodden path huffs and puffs its way up in the opposite direction. Then beyond, the sky sits heavily on the sea as though resting on a blue chaise longue while that wayward wind whips across a mustard coloured scarf of a beach tugging relentlessly at the weak and helpless. Meanwhile above, the lone tree, clouds sketch themselves in dark grey and watch as the wind tires to an old man, gnawing away with its bared, toothless gums until finally that lone leaf.. succumbs. Later, the hills step backwards into a fading light leaving the lone tree standing naked apart from wooded limbs swaying heartedly in an attempt to cover its remaining… dignity. Ian Souter Dec. 2024
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