|
The timber company left a deformed fir standing on the side of the
hill. It looks like a sick old man, limbs bent under the weight of
ages.
Young firs are growing beneath it. They
race one another, eager to reach the light, to be the tallest, as
if they knew that the slow ones will perish in the shade.
At the bottom
of the slope, a lone sapling grows atop a limestone shelf. It is
taller, fatter than the others. It basks in the warmth of the sun,
indifferent to the struggle of its peers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
|
