Growing into the sky, leaves plummeting down to the earth only to shower the fragile and ever-changing lives of thousands of species struggling to survive.
A tree with thick and gnarled trunk, like a huge knotted muscle, rough with slowly peeling great slabs of bark.
This tree, stretching through all the atmospheres, its top leafy tendrils play with the arcing brilliance of solar flares and create delicate designs in the passing dust.
How lucky this tree is to be where it is; all the circumstance in the universe bent towards creating the unlikely and irregular conditions spawning its birth.
Growing inwards, outwards, sideways, deeper and deeper... becoming more and more, a symbiosis of many races, and many people, no longer distinguishable from each other. No longer can we say the tree ends and the other begins.
The tree is changing,
and maybe it is this knowledge which gives it a glimpse of something more, something like a universal knowledge... maybe...
And maybe the tree knows that one day it will come crashing down,
its branches that reach across the world having aged,
its leaves, fallen,
its needles having dried,
the tree's roots will transform back to earth,
all of its parts will stop pumping the nutrients of life through the great tubular veins beneath its skin.
There will be one last blooming of flowers,
one last casting of spores,
as the tree utters its death poem and cries out through the colors and seeds in the sky.
Beautiful, it will become the garden,
Beautiful, it will die
Beautiful,
