Somewhere, stored far back into the depths of my memory, there stands an ancient tree. It is a frightening tree – and it is hostile. Gnarled, twisted branches brandish sharpened twigs which pierce the sky. The sky was weirdly gray when I first saw it…not so much cloudy gray as it was a misty gray, the kind of gray where horrors lurk. You know the kind of horrors I mean. The movie where you know those kids aren’t supposed to go “there” – “Don’t go in there!” You shout. “Are you stupid?” The horrors which could also be little more than a feeling, a twitch or a deepening of your pulse. Why? Because hostility reigns. The air is heavy with it. Dripping with it. For me, perhaps the first twitch I consciously recall having was standing face to face with The Tree. Not “a” tree…THE TREE. I have not spoken of it very often since that day…but apparently it has not left my subconsciousness. The tree in real life, I hope, is no longer standing; though I do not know. The darn thing is probably still there, refusing to keel over, still a menace to those who pass by.
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| "Tree" by Shayna Matthews |
Young as I was, I guess I never forgot that moment. Obviously, for I am writing about it now. Somewhere, there is a photograph of that very tree. Maybe my mother has it stashed away in the collection of old photos, maybe. I don’t really need to see the photograph though. I can still see the wooded hostility standing alone in that field, waiting.
I wrote a scene in my novel recently, a scene where a boy draws a picture of a gnarled tree. It was a hostile tree that scarred the sky and struck fear in the heart of the boy. It was a scene of great sorrow, loneliness and fear. It wrote itself…so well in fact that I have no conscious memory of actually writing it. When I read back over what I wrote, my skin prickled and I was shivering. My teeth came near to chattering, truth be told. I had not thought of that damned tree in years. YEARS. And yet, it’s still there…waiting.
A well written perspective on a "bad" tree.
ReplyDeleteBut, what if the tree had been shunned and taunted so much because of the way it looked that it withdrew in despair? Its heart shriveled until the tree became hollow inside. The bees loved the tree and took shelter there. They tried to protect it from those who would torment the lonely thing. Trees can be so misunderstood. Another perspective on the tree.
I liked the way you created the evil aura around a common thing and made it into a monster.
It's a wonder that boy survived that bee attack.
All the best to you, Shayna...
Hi Sarah! Well now, that is an interesting polar perspective on the tree. Admittedly, I never viewed it like that because in my young memory, the chaos and fear surrounding the bee attack built it into something to fear, a nightmare rather than what it very well could be--as you suggested--a tale of despair and protection. Thank you for broadening my insight of the memory, Sarah. And yes, I agree, miraculous the boy survived the attack. Someone was looking out for him.
DeleteI'm reminded of Tom Bombadil singing to Old Man Willow with your story, Shayna. I've met a few trees in my time that makes me wonder if they are sentient, if unfortunately rooted.
ReplyDeleteHello Keena,
DeleteThank you so much for dropping by! Trees have always been a source of fascination for me. There are a small number of "witness trees" on the nearby Gettysburg battlefield, and I visit them with untold answers to a plethora of questions. What must they have witnessed? Oh, the stories they could tell, if only they could speak our language...or vice versa.
That's quite a memory. I felt that way about my grandmother's house, which was full of spirits. Looking back though, none of them were bad. I was just too young to see it. I wonder if Sarah isn't on to something...that the tree might've responded to a little tender loving care. :-)
ReplyDeleteHi Kristy!
DeleteI believe you're right, Sarah is on to something with her suggestion. Houses, I think are the same way. Old abandoned houses are just crying out for TLC, or perhaps its the spirits left within the walls? Either way, they make me feel sad.
There are those events, places, people who make an impression on our lives, sometimes without our conscious knowledge. I personally always loved trees, but the old barn, now that was another story. Doris
ReplyDeleteYou know, it's not easy to laugh when you're shivering with fear!
ReplyDeleteSuch a great description of the "tree." As we zip down the country side I often look out the car window and gaze at different trees. One that will sit back from the roadway, perhaps on a hillside, always looking much older than the other trees and alone. I imagine that the tree was here while the Indians roamed the prairie or perhaps a wagon train passed by there beneath it. Last year I saw a tree. We were driving on the backroads on the outskirts of Council Bluffs Iowa. There at the crossroads stood an old gnarled tree. Its branches reached high into the sky. On the trunk there appeared to be a face. The face of an old wise man all wrinkled and withered. There it stood in the midst of head stones long ago planted watching over and guarding those who rested there.
ReplyDelete