AN: A horridly short timed piece I wrote for my art class. We were given a landscape of a tree and asked to write about it. 10 minutes. I own neither the painting - © Mark Workman - or the man - © Victor Hugo.

Revolutions

I love this tree…alone, it's safe. People aren't safe because one always has to talk to them. Here, I am only expected to think, to dream… Oh, to dream of things. But I don't want to. I only wish to watch. But I am allowed to do that as well, for the tree does not prohibit me.

The sun is sinking. The sky is almost a rainbow with all these different layers of colour. The purples and pinks and sinking blues blur together beautifully. My tree is becoming silhouetted by the lost daylight, and I want to stay here.

I don't want to leave - it's easier to belong to this picture: A field, a tree, a sky - this is true. This is real. This is clear. Everything else is sad and confusing, melted together, the people I lead, anything I face…

I want to stay forever with the quickening night, and this rough, warm, safe tree that allows me without illusions. I don't face doubt, or questioning, I don't hurt inside. I want to stay here forever.

They don't allow that. Farewell, sunset tree.

Owari ~ End