Tree of The Drought

When I was young, I used to dream. I once dreamed of life in the rain, where I could embrace the soil. I once dared to imagine that one day, I would expand the forest, and spread my joy. I was content to stand, to never show strain.

But those days are now dead. Standing proud and succulent was but a dream of yesteryear. So I left my post, and marched off in contempt. The soil had turned to sand, my fruits looking like a rather sad bunch of raisins. There was no turning back for this guy. It was time to reject the change, to indeed defy my very nature if it meant survival.

But you see, it’s quite lonely to be the only one. Not a soul around me had decided to take leave. And indeed, the drought had taken them. “Get off the ground,” I had told them. But they did not listen. Yes, I suppose no other tree had ever spoken or walked. I don't know why they give me the silent treatment, perhaps I’d offended them or said the wrong thing.

Those days are behind me now, and in any case they’ve all perished. Only I persist, and indeed only I possess the power to relocate my roots. My roots have treaded across many parts of the continent. I’d waded across saltwater marshes, ancient mountains of old. I’d trudged across the snow, tundras of bitter wintery cold.

Where I settled, it seemed alright. A lush little valley, for a tree like me. Maybe this is the place to be. Dewdrops all around, grasses to hold the soil together, and even strange animals that could spread my pollen. It should be the key, I thought.

But something did not feel right. Though last week it had rained, the moisture had gone awry. The animals had disappeared, and now the soil had gotten dry! Surely this was a sign that the drought was yet again going to take away my home.

Take away my new home? As if the drought would ever! Not on this day, never! So before the soil can dry me out as it did before, I take my leave once more. That valley can keep its rain, I say. The rain has stopped, and that will not do. I would not end up like the others, for I can change my fate today!

The biome has no control over my growth, only me. I have conquered the drought, and I shall conquer it again.

As I had traveled, I noticed another huge change. My roots, exposed in full to the biting wind as I had walked, have been reduced to mere fibers at their tips. The water that ran through them was dwindling. And this is when I realize: a plague of drought is now afflicting me! If I am not careful, I could bring drought wherever I may be!

So then I hatched a brilliant plan. I would escape the drought as I had done back then, by settling my roots into a place where no drought could plague me ever again!

The riverside was risky, I thought. The soil could erode, and though the water was plentiful, it was much too strong to stand in directly. And if I wanted to totally prevent the drought, then I would need to sit directly in water.

So I located a nearby lake, a deep and shimmering oasis in the dryness of my cursed existence. Salvation at last, I was ready to reach! The water was fresh, not salty like some wretched beach! So I settle in the lake, submerged halfway into its reassuring depths.

And then what happened? It was kind of a blur. I don't remember much, nor do I feel much even right now. The fibers at my roots, though they filled with water… declared a new plague: a plague of rot. The sunlight was shifting, through something that shimmered. Were my leaves catching it? Well, they tried, even when new hope glimmered. Though my roots were indeed soaked, they now lacked strength. I could not find the sustenance, nor indeed anymore of life’s length.

And thus concludes the tree of drought, whose drought from within was driest of all…