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.”