A Twist on a Dream

Leaves fell to the ground that day from His-Majesty, —— the lone sycamore standing tall in the center of the orchard. Of no concern for any other day in the late fall,—— yet — this was mid summer. Wet and rotting the dead matter fell covering the carpet of green grass like a festering blanket ready to spread its disease. Clinging in a lost battle to the tree’s drooping branches, its clusters of round spiked fruit dropped one-by-one from their once majestic height; — as powder they fell, floating like ash from a once favored position.

The wind picked up,— and just a wisp of the composting aura from the base of the king drifted to its nearest subject. The fruit tree’s bright ripe produce began to wither, then shrivel, then turned to dust; its leaves blackened under the summer sun. Then the tree dropped to the ground toward its king in one last plea for succor, yet life could not be offered. The occurrence rippled through the orchard as each in-turn succumbed to its fate.

Lightning erupted from the clear sky striking the monarch at the center of death, splitting its trunk in-two. Cleaved in-half, the parted wings burned, turning day to night — as the smoke and soot darkened the sky.

But out of the rubble a glimmer of light flickered from the root-stock of the old sycamore. The buzzing of insects could be heard drowning out the flames of the toasted wings. Honey flowed from a crack in what remained of the split trunk of the dead king. And as the golden river flowed from the root-stock a breath of new life was offered?—— if we could only understand this truth.