Tree

In the middle of the night, the tree is swaying, clocks are ticking and the clouds are frantic with worry. A tree that is moving back and forth through a great feeling of the  air in the middle of a misty night, was the same tree that is moving back and forth through the same great feeling a long time ago. 

It was once gloomy, once bright, once hasty and always stiff. The tree is happy while clocks are ticking though the clouds are frantic with worry. The tree will eventually change its way; might be happier with itself without the greatness of air. But how can it live thee without the presence of air in its atmosphere? How can it sway thee? How can it dance thee?

One tree in the middle of the night - wanting to be noticed, wanting to be wanted, was on the verge of converting itself to a different thing. It is impossible for sure by cause that a tree will always be a tree. It can't be moved to a place or another. It will always be just there, just a tree. 

The happy tree wants to be happier. It won't count the ticking anymore. It won't mind the clouds that were wrapped in frantic worry. It will only be counting its sway, in the pillars of its life, in the place where it should be. It will only get stronger. The tree will surely live, it might be for its another feel, another field or another phase.

The tree will sway. The tree won't demand; happy disposition is present to its roots.

It will free its leaves, roots and branches. It can only stay in one place but the leaves can be somewhere else; a place where it can leave its trace; a place where it can be special.


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