Tree of Life

   Long ago, in a secret place, there grew a single tree. Out of living stone it sprung, rising, growing, reaching out into the darkness above. Roots crept across the cold ground, winding, twisting, weaving a tangled tapestry. Years passed, and seeds, those tiny parcels of life, glided from swooping branches, resting amongst sprawling vines. Over time, a forest grew. By the light of countless stars, a forest grew, thrived, lived as one and as many. As many and as one, the forest grew forever and not at all, filling the void with happiness and sadness, sorrow and joy, memories, memories.

   A name. Carved into each tree, a name, living, dreaming, believing in a future. Not for themselves, not for vanity, pride, ambition: for truth. Truth that none and all speak, all and none remember in the deepest recesses of their existence.

In this truth, there grew a single tree.