The pine tree that stands on the outskirts of the pasture
Swaying in time with the wind as if dancing to an encrypted tune
Has been my good friend and conspirator for many years

My mom forbids me from climbing the pine’s frail branches
The wood appears so strong but can crack without a moment’s notice
I disregard her order on occasion and scale up the tree
Which consequently results in injuries that last for days

The pine tree, the one companion I can count on to never argue, complain, or disagree
Has for quite a long time allowed my siblings, cousins, and I
To scamper up and down her branches
Much like crazed squirrels

I trust her with my secrets
This tree, which tastes so strongly of an unusual combination
Of freedom and danger
Allows me to climb quickly and quietly
So that I am unseen by parents or tattletales
Up to the highest point I can, where I hug her warm, rough trunk
Take in the scent of minty needles and warm Minnesota summers
Watch the wandering cars fly past on the endless trail of asphalt that is the highway
And feel the soft breeze that is nonexistent twenty feet below

I’ve claimed the pine tree as my own
Up in her branches I feel brave and it’s almost as if I can feel
Something like happiness emanating from inside her
I often go to her to escape heated arguments or to taste the inspiration she gives me
When I have a notebook and pen in hand

My pine tree will always understand me
And this is why I love her
Just like me, she has a dark sense of humor
And occasionally
SNAP!
Then, like always, I pick myself up, brush myself off
Look up at yet another broken branch
And climb to the top once again
My favorite place in the world
Mostly because I’m not allowed to be there

She walks in for another week at home
already whining and crying and complaining.
The first thing I wanna say is,
“You have gotta be kidding me.”
Hardly here a minute
already giving her dad grief
when he does everything for her
and mine does nothing for me.

“It isn’t fair!” she moans,
every time her dad won’t buy her
whatever new expensive thing she wants this time.

But I’d like to tell her what really isn’t fair.
Living with diabetes
or having prosthetic limbs
or being abused at home.
Maybe she should be like thousands of girls in Africa,
pregnant and with AIDS,
or at the very least she could be without a dad who loves her.
Perhaps then she could say
that life isn’t fair.

Standing in the middle of a raging storm
feels like
the very world as we know it is coming to an end.
The apocalypse
or Armageddon
becoming a reality
in the screaming winds, bitter rain drops, and endless noise.
Lightning flashes everywhere
tangling with the clouds and trees
persistent
unstoppable power
like a cobra among a nest of baby birds.
And when the thunder rumbles past
ear-shattering in its intensity
in its powerful force
like a freight train come derailed
I realize that never before
have I ever once truly
lived.

Centuries ago, everything was fine. Does time always seem to go by so fast?
I want to go back, before he was so cold.
I take that for granted. Should have been smarter!
Could things have turned out differently?

Once upon a time my father would have stayed forever.
My eyes were completely blinded by his
little gifts when it was clear he didn't want me.
Now I realize.
Did I make a
drastic
mistake
once long ago?
I was a child
so maybe
it was only
his error.

I have never learned how to play Texas Hold 'Em.
I have never gotten a tattoo.
I have never felt healthy but stayed in bed all day
or watched the sun drown in the ocean.
I have never been able to touch the delicate legs of a spider.
I have never betrayed a friend
or robbed a bank
or stolen a life.
I have never hung up the phone when I needed to and
I have never felt comfortable in my own skin.
But once I stood in the middle of a raging storm,
rain drenching me and wind whipping my hair and clothes,
and when a bolt of lightning struck
not one hundred feet away
I was indestructible.

It's been ten years.
Ten years that I've been allowed to exist here.
Things here are beautiful
magnificent
fascinating and extremely exhausting.
There is so much to take in.
The rivers, crystal clear and endless.
The forests, lush and deeply green.
People are far and few between
and everything is amazing.

It's been one hundred years.
One hundred years and I still can't get enough.
Every night is filled with wonder.
Stars cover a velvety black night sky
and a softly glowing moon's rays caress the rolling hills and valleys.
Every day is full of adventure.
I feel like a small child, humbled at the bottom of a waterfall
sprayed down by cool mist
and I see her on the other side.
Grin, raise a hand in greeting, and wait for a response.

It's been only another ten years.
Now one hundred and ten years that I've been trapped here.
She is not like myself.
She can die, and unfortunately, I cannot follow.
Death would be a blessing.
Life is now a curse.
Great cities of stone and wood have risen up around me.
But I feel hollow
empty
burdened by the loss of her.

It's been one thousand years.
One thousand years that I have been exiled here.
The cities have grown and become still more populated.
Yet I am alone.
It is hopeless, pointless;
making friends, beginning even the most harmless of relationships
holds no appeal for me.
They all will die, for they are mortal.
And I shall be left, once again, with nothing but memories.
Life is now a chore, no longer a gift.

It's been ten thousand years.
Ten thousand years, and all hope is not lost.
Though the world is now entirely too full.
and city has turned to metropolis, so great are the numbers among me.
But I tell you my tale because you are like me.
No longer will my eternity be empty.
From master to servant you have turned me.
And I do not mind being vulnerable; opening up to you is
wonderful.
Things here are once more magnificent
now that I may see them through your eyes
by your side
my beautiful immortal.