The Lone Tree

The Lone Tree The autumn day had been muffled up in thick scarf and rainproof jacket until darkness, countryside darkness, clambered gradually over the horizon; silence, stillness obediently at its heel. Then black the night, wild the sea and the lone tree stood tall, branches muscled, trunk heavily rooted, protective of its remaining leaves. Next morning sprung up; a multi-coloured umbrella! It began 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 was the wind whistling a perky rendition of, “Good Golly, Miss Molly!” Then pulling and pushing at the tree's branches it plucked at that helpless, hapless, hued canopy until only a few leaves remained; until only.. one remained. A trapeze artist swinging from a high branch. The lone tree now stared helplessly towards the hills where its cousins, the evergreens, held arms as they danced gaily down a staggered slope while a well-trodden path huffed and puffed its way up in the opposite direction. Then beyond, the sky sat heavily on the sea as though resting on a cold, blue chaise longue while that wayward wind whipped across a mustard coloured scarf of a beach tugging relentlessly at the weak and helpless. Meanwhile above the lone tree, clouds sketched themselves in dark grey and watched as the wind tired to an old man, gnawing away with its bared, toothless gums until finally that lone leaf.. succumbed. Later, the hills stepped backwards into the fading light leaving the lone tree standing naked while woody, thinned limbs swayed heartedly in an attempt to cover its remaining… dignity. Ian Souter Dec. 2024