Among the pines

there stands a

group of older

trees. once cones

themselves. Now they

stand in the

centre, firm and

proud, reaching skyward

for its golden

gifts and dispensing

their own, in

return, to those

below their scented

canopy. Within their

bark seeps their

lifeblood, amber and

blood-gold rich.

For them there,

life is great:

they are surrounded

by those of

their kind. In

mutual bonds they

share a unity

too strong to

destroy unless by

those more powerful.

But they don’t

care to offend

for the forest

extends in countless

kilometres in all

direction; and this

is but one

stand within hundreds

of thousand other

stands of pines.

And, faraway, a

single pine seeks

another of her

kind, little knowing

amid her open

stand why she

is all alone

and seemingly forsaken

amid these others

who don’t care

for her presence

content to shun

her amid their

swaying murmuring and

rustling. The lone

pine though stands

tall for that

is who she

is here atop

this wind-swept

hilltop surrounded by

these stony teeth

that always attract

these insects who

make fuss and

ado before leaving

them, and her,

all alone once

more. Thus she

stands and waits

and hopes, and

waits, and always

forever pining away.


© 2017 L. Tafa



Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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