Digital Seedlings Make Forests Into Trees

As far as the eye could see, all I saw were mighty trees. They’d overgrown my initial plan, probably because I’d lost my sight because of all the beauty.

It’d started simply enough. In my innocence, I planted that seedling and nurtured it with everything inside of me. That first moment, the vision clung to me and pushed me past my endurance. The pain was only momentary, but the reward was to be eternal. Because my tree was like no other, and therefore precious. Its uniqueness drew those near and far to marvel at its splendor. Until that fateful moment when the serpent entered my abode…

“Why would you place all of yourself into but a sapling, when it’s clearly a forest that you seek?”, asked the serpent with his tongue so forked.

I stared at that tongue as though it foretold a destiny that my heart yearned. I was at the fork in my road, and my heart would not steer me wrong. How could it when my tree was such a beauty? Surely, if one was a marvel then more would be heavenly. Those honeyed words coated my soul with such a shine so bright that I glowed from the inside. What a shame that the glow blinded my eyes from the lies hidden behind the temptation. For I was sorely tempted…

“You must indeed be wise for have you not been present at the moment of all creation? Please give me your knowledge so that I might go forth and be fruitful in my efforts!”, I responded with such desperation that I trembled from those yearnings so deep.

I’d followed his tracks through time, as they’d been etched into stone literarily. Those words shown the jewels strewn on the path he foretold. Rewards so splendid given to those who were once little like me. I would live on in posterity. How grand would that be?

I toiled day and night to make this forest that he bespoke. Until soon dream became reality. But that reality was nothing like the vision that had once driven me.

My sapling soon became forlorn from my ignorance. A once vibrant vision soon became dark slivers of withdrawal. Hidden in the shadows of those false umbrages spun by a master weaver. Until it was but a gleam at the center of a ball of steam.

In time, my blind eyes caught a burst of color fluttering above the sapling ignored. The crowd no longer lingered on her, as the jungle had much more to see. But she screamed out to me with that little gleam, as though something fought to be free.

The color soon transformed into a radiant bird of such plumage never before seen. As she flit back and fore from the gleam, the steam puffed into eternity and was naught to be seen. My little gleam limped into my outstretched palm and gratefully snugged itself back into my skin. The false glow from within became something more tranquil. My eyes cleared, and I once more saw the trees individually.

My life has come full circle, and my heart is now once more free. No more forked tongues for me!