The Tree, Part 3, by J. W. Cassandra

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their range of ideas and scope of emotions remained human. And they grasped with human logic, like a shot, their fate and, that they cannot change it any more. Then, of course, they admitted, what a huge sin they had committed but, all repentance was in vain: tempests kept tearing them, seasons, years had gone one by one  ̶  they have been kept looming to the sky as trees and memory of their human-mind was complemented with that of long millions of years bygone before their lives. With the earlier humans, who exploited all the planet and who all, as a reward, became the lungs of the planet, the human-trees…

Then they became tree-humans: this differed from the human-trees so that the tree-humans, already rooted into the ground with their roots, couldn’t even step any more, though, their minds had kept the human mind, as well. They remembered their human nature, their common and own sins, by that they devastated the planet neglectfully, scrounged, meshed, killed, plunging into fatal danger the planet itself by their self-devastating lives because of their fever of making fortune.

Then through millions of years, they had become trees indeed for, inhaling of carbon dioxide compared to that of oxigen is slow and their entire being and mood of existence had slowed down. Gradually, they lost their human memories: at first, they forgot their own individual existence then, that of the whole mankind, that hazy image remained in them only that, the most fragile, craftiest, the most cruel and the most dangerous beast of the planet is but human. And yet what remained was the mindless devastation that they caused. Well, and the grades of becoming a tree: the human-tree, the tree-human and the tree. Even in them remained the immeasurable suffering of the human-tree during his expiation because of his own sins, the resigned pain of the tree-human by that he admitted inevitably that, he could no more be a human again  ̶ and the tree that owns memory of millions of years: memories of all of the trees, memories of existence of all the beings.

Nevertheless, during this transformation, even the thought of the trees has slowed down: everything became leached by the moisture flowing through the woody cells, through the sunshine that they received in themselves, the glebes they held in, their roots by that they interlocked invisibly  ̶  and through all these, common memory of the trees flowed through and throve slowly. If we can say so: their notions ripened by centuries rose into heights of philosophy, their memories embracing millions of years sank into hellish abyss…


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J. W. Cassandra

About the Author: J. W. Cassandra

I’m a teacher and a registered author either, at Artisjus as a writer and a poet in Hungary. I love forests, butterflies, flowers.

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