Twiggy

I’m skinny, jagged, and blend with my surroundings.  At a distance my brothers and sisters look the same.  Up close we each have different twists and turns, scratched bark, and tiny leaves.  My mom is humongous with long thick roots running deep in the ground giving her balance, almost cementing her into place.  The roots are our dad, bringing food to the table, providing for us.  I feel they might forget about me, but each day I am thought of and given nutrients that keep me and my tiny leaves from wilting away. 

The snowfall comes, and I feel mom pulling on me as snow piles up trying to break me free.  I blend slightly, praying for wind to knock off the white menace who tries to kill me.  Each winter brothers and sisters die, but never mother and father.

            The snow melts off me, dripping water into the dirt, winding its way through the soil, forcefully making it to father.  Spring came accompanied with granola’d hikers and their dogs.  This deadly pair came along our trail, stopping under our shade we graciously gave them as a peace offering.  My heat raced as they approached me, I thought my leaves would shake free.  The dogs began barking, and slowly their whimpers turned into pleadings.  The bearded man gave in, pushed off the tree from where he was leaning, and reached high into the air.  He picked me.  A slight tug and I was easily broken away from my mom and thrown high into the air.  The monster chased me down, but couldn’t find me buried in a pile of mulch in the river bank.  Lying with strangers, I died alone.