Roots

A tree without roots is just a piece of wood, declared Marco Pierre White, a British chef. What a smart quote and from a culinary chef no less! Am I being facetious? I really hope so given that a tree without roots is surely dead first and mourned by his tree family and acquaintances who throw him an underground memorial. I was a witness to such a ceremony, watching it from a tree cavern, and this is how it sounded in my tree-focused head.

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Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the tree across from where he stood facing the Sun

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the tree who witnessed his downfall from behind

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the first tree just up the hill

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the tree who could not stop crying

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of several trees who merged long ago and saw the murder

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the unknown tree

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of a tree of knowledge

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the funny tree

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of the saddest tree there is

Sap your identity, please! The service will commence very shortly. We are the roots of a tree dying from sadness

They kept sapping their short stories until the place looked like a root canal.

We are gathered here today to pay great tribute and our most sincere respects to our dear friend, the tree whose roots winded right there. He was admired by us all, and we will immensely miss his joyous way of greeting the Sun every morning with all his branches as if praying. We have all witnessed a death that can and will strike us under such circumstances as those involving Earth’s true devil. Let us take a precious moment to gather our thoughts and remember the tree whose roots winded right there. They dug into their trunks and found a few memory rings, and when the place was filled with them, they slowly began to sing:

You can’t always stand where you are.

You can’t always stand where you are.

You can’t always stand where you are.

And if you try sometimes, you might find

That you stand it nonetheless, oh yeah.

They sang with their woody voices until the roots of the unknown tree moved away into the dark.

The tree whose roots winded right there had surely become firewood by then, or perhaps a chair that will be eventually cremated and its ashes scattered on some piece of ground behind the barn or some forgotten alley where wood decays and often rots.

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Another Tree in the Blaze: All Parts

We don’t need no conflagration

We don’t need no height control

No ax or chainsaw in the forrest

Butchers, leave us trees alone

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Hey, butchers, leave us trees alone

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All in all we’re just another tree in the blaze

All in all we’re just another tree in the blaze

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[Chorus of trees from the forrest not far from you]

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We don’t need no conflagration

We don’t need no height control

No ax or chainsaw in the forrest

Butchers, leave us trees alone

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Hey, butchers, leave us trees alone

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All in all we’re just another tree in the blaze

All in all we’re just another tree in the blaze