Another short, short fiction writing exercise. Ok.. let's go..
Stemble woke with the morning light, the breeze tickling through his branches and rustling his leaves as if to say hello on its way through the meadow. He had so many mornings like this. He had greeted the morning so many times, that he entertained the illusion that the morning waited for HIM to awake, before it began its journey.
For a moment, he felt out for Chrystale, his long time friend and partner, but then he recalled that many years before she had been cut down by the Orcs on their campaign to fight the elves and some little ones. The pain of hearing her wounds still burned in the core of his trunk. She had been with him for so long, and they had greeted the universe, together. It seemed that so many of those that he used to know had been cut down in their time, and he felt more and more alone, except for the animals that had made their home in his trunk. He didn't mind them. He liked the company, in fact... except for the woodpecker, who picked the worst times to pay a visit.
But, he had seen them, generation after generation. They came. They went. And, he had the perspective that he wished he could impart to them. All of them were so busy... so rushed and active and feeling like all of the universe was in whatever moment they happened to see. But, he had seen those moments, and he had seen the moments after. A perspective like that left one understanding that the universe is not for a life but a life for the universe... was not finite but infinite... was not happening all around one but was found by observing ones own part within the great song that never ended... till it did... he missed Chrystale.
"Good morning," called a little voice, below. "Good morning," he questioned back. Who are you, little one?"
"I'm not quite sure, yet. All I know is that my mom used to stand, here, beside me, til she was cut down."
And, Stemble noted from where the voice was rising.. it was just next to where he used to touch branches with Chrystale. This must be her daughter.
"Ah, I'm sorry that happened to you, little one. But, I knew your mother, and I could tell you wonderful stories about her."
"Oh, Really? That would be wonderful. Thank you."
And, for the first time in what seemed like ages, Stemble felt the light upon his branches and the wind turned as if to say, your time is not done, yet. And, his trunk swelled with pride in being able to have purpose and to give one last gift to his long friend, once more.
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