Stories (An Older Fiction Story I Wrote)

        I've been around for a while. I still remember my first days. The first time I experienced life and other lives as we met. I remember how it all felt. Every good and bad time known with the passing of days and breaths given and taken. Through lesser known vision and hearing I witnessed much.  Here in this place. Here where there have been many stories.

          Some were loud, some made no sound, and yet the impact was felt all the same. I reflect on these events and what the aftermath of it all was, these stories I’ve encountered. All kinds of different times in the transitions, always remaining fully present (though the bad times I would’ve chosen to escape if I could). Always here, in all kinds of different weather, with all kinds of different people. I've known alot, was the firsthand witness of humanity unfolding over and over. Year after year, wondering, ever curious about the changes that have taken place, the lives of people (families, individuals, and all that have arrived and departed after) that's passed through this place. Here on this ground I’ve known as home I've considered their stories. I've experienced the ups and downs of lives that have been here, over and over throughout the many years I’ve known. Sure, I've been on the outside looking in, but I've encountered more than most know.

         When people and pets see me they think little of me, but I think much of them. I hurt for them. I care for them. I hope the best for them. They haven’t always cared well for me, treated me with kindness, though I still do for them. Their joys were shared, taking in the laughter and the smiles felt with the celebrations and their times of play. The hurt was received, enduring the pain of failures and disappointments they’ve known. I wouldn’t change a thing though if it meant being able to share life with other people (whether it seemed like I was or not). I still remember the old house in front. The mid-sized yard it sat on. I still remember the flowers and vegetable gardens nearby (ones that brought hope and food to all). The roots run deep (and they still remain firmly planted, even in my old age). Their voices shook the ground and their smells gave vision to the unlikeliest of bystanders with each touch of gas that reached me (though I considered myself more of a distant relation). I still remember, and I still appreciate them thinking of me enough to let me be a part of their lives, to be part of their stories. I may be a tree, but that's not all there is to me. Stop by sometime for a visit. Have a seat nearby for a while and you may hear the stories I've shared on this land, with this house I saw when it was first built, with so many “distant relations” in a place that gave many stories since I was planted.

Sidenote: If any of the writing on this blog has made a good impact on your life in someway (EVEN if it was something you may have enjoyed reading for a particular reason), please feel free to share this blog with someone else who could be blessed also. Thank you for your support! 



 

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