In Memory of a Tree
Paco
told us there would be a tree. I
couldn’t wait to see it. I sneaked
over the ridge, the vision of the tree in my head; tall trunk, sturdy branches,
green leaves blotting out the scorching sun.
This
tree was ugly; gnarled, and twisted, broken bits all over. I turned away in
disgust.
“You’re
disappointed.” I turned to see a
creature as unlike the tree as a butterfly from a caterpillar.
“It’s
ugly! And Paco said it was the last one!”
“Paco was wrong. There are no more trees.
This is what he remembers. It's his tree, not yours.”
