Day 4

Waiting

She hoped to be useful. To be big, bold, to be…what's the word? Majestic! To be majestic.

She laid in hope of one day being a reference, of being chosen to be the bearer of secrets, to be protection.

She longed for the distant future, where people would measure their accomplishments by her size.

And so she waited.

Days went by. Moon cycles. Seasons. Lifetimes. And there she sat, waiting for the right time.

Finally, a glimmer of hope. She hanged to that one beam of light with all her might and, not minding the rime, sprung outwards.

It was a hard battle. The world is cruel to the younglings, but she stood her ground, placed herself firmly and pushed up.

Everything was so bright and she wanted to hug the world, but had to keep pushing out. She would be great, and beautiful, and majestic.

After a year or so, she considered her battle won. No one would move her. No one would shake her ground. But they came.

In massive waves, with loud tools that hurt her flesh and ropes and chains. She didn't stand a chance.

Now, that once proud tree was cut down in bits and pieces for the comfort of a much more fragile race.

If she still had a conscience, she would probably be glad to see that at least she wasn't a knife handle, or a shoulder rest on a rifle,

or the handle on an ax.

A hanger wasn't majestic, but at least it was harmless.