I did not plant the forest; I was born there.
Lived my life there. I could navigate well there.
I could find the spot to look up and see the blue sky.
I could find the spots to hide from the rain, the wind, the storms.
The forest is not where I longed to live.
I knew there must be more.
Apart from the brief glimpse of blue sky. More.
More, apart from the trees. Hiding from the storms.
I cut down a tree.
It felt good.
I imagined more blue sky.
I cut another down.
I caught a glimpse of the blue sky.
I knew the spot,
With less trees, why was there less blue sky?
Yet more spots to hide from the rain, the wind, the storms?
I could cut down all the trees,
If I had the strength and force of character.
No need to hide from the storms. No need for blue sky.
No one to be born in the forest: forever after.
Cursed is the man who is hung on a tree.
The tree is death not life.
I can no longer navigate my forest.
The forest has only one tree.
I am lost.
See what St Paul says here.
Steve Skiver
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