Untitled, by Laurie Boris (posted with permission)


He was the only one left of his kind, and the sadness of that knowledge bent his bones. Each season, when the sun heated his branches and unfurled his leaves, he dared to hope that a sprout would crack the earth, another like him. Some had tried. One brave sapling pushed its fresh shoots to the light. But, starved for nutrients, it only shriveled back into the ground, wasted. Again, this happened, and again. Until finally he realized: Thick and ravenous, his own roots were choking the new ones, and while he existed he would always be alone.  http://laurieboris.com

Image credit: hotblack, via morguefile.com (used under license)

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