When I was a child, I chopped the bark off a tree with a tomahawk.
I have no idea why I had access to a
tomahawk.
Looking back, I’m pretty sure I killed he tree. At the time of initiation and first swing, I thought I was helping the tree, cutting out a bad part. Seeing the beautiful green wick beneath was enchanting, new, and sticky. And it smelled funny. I remember that it did not smell like tree, but pain or premature fluid. However, uniformity was more important. Little by little of “saving the tree” I had peeled most of the bark off. All my little knicks with the hatchet had paid off. By the time I finished, I realized that my place of origin has begun to turn brown. I was saddened when I realized that my beautiful green uniform would be gone by morning. I don’t remember if the tree survived.
Looking back, I’m pretty sure I killed he tree. At the time of initiation and first swing, I thought I was helping the tree, cutting out a bad part. Seeing the beautiful green wick beneath was enchanting, new, and sticky. And it smelled funny. I remember that it did not smell like tree, but pain or premature fluid. However, uniformity was more important. Little by little of “saving the tree” I had peeled most of the bark off. All my little knicks with the hatchet had paid off. By the time I finished, I realized that my place of origin has begun to turn brown. I was saddened when I realized that my beautiful green uniform would be gone by morning. I don’t remember if the tree survived.
Don’t give your children tomahawks. Let the trees be.
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