My phone buzzed and softly illuminated the corner of the kitchen where I had left it sitting. It would be my dad asking about the weather.
I initiated a chain reaction of muscle movement that propelled me toward the phone with a not insignificant protest from my spirit.
It was a photo from Kristie. Her lying in my bed wearing nothing but a tank top and lacy panties that were probably black but I hoped were blue. She had cropped it in a way that made me wish she hadn’t cropped it at all. This would have been her intention and thus there was no point in taking the bait.
I hated this tree. It was uncooperative in nature and art; disagreeable in temperament. I had a sister once that behaved the same way. I still do, I guess, but we don’t talk anymore so past tense strikes me as being more appropriate.
Cooperation is hard for a creator to find, you know? Singular vision such as the vision I enjoy is hard to explain to the layman. Or this damn tree.
Then, all at once, there was no explanation necessary. A strong wind skated across the top of the water and every branch and limb the tree possesses lifted at once and the great green bastard began to assume the appearance of lumbering from side to side like some kind of gentle giant. It came to life before my eyes and did this dance for me alone: the only man who could interpret it.
I love this damn tree.