The Talk of the Tree

The Talk of the Tree
by Paul Skinner

    It was another typical morning, clear sky, as clear as possible, light traffic, everyone had gone to work and the day had already begun.  The park lay right on the corner of two major cross streets, and a school across the street from it.  Few cars were parked along the pathway, randomized into little bunches.  A small blue BMW broke the sound barrier as it set off its alarm and rang through the trees and the rest of the park.
    Damnit!  I was meaning to sleep in this morning if it weren't for that G**damned metal dog!  Oh well, I guess I'll have to rustle my leaves early.  The tree suddenly silently shook in the morning breeze.  Two older men came near to sit at the bench just a few feet away.  I ought to be a little more content, I mean listen to me!  But it's hard not to complain after all.  I suppose the young mans from across the street would have woken me anyway.  Beastly immature creatures they are, almost every day they meet together for some ritual, and right about when the sun is in the middle of the sky, they all rush out, noisy in all, most of them making a bigger commotion with their painted horses, activating them one by one.
    The tree sighed, and the two men began to talk about politics.  The tree didn't know what the hell they were talking about, but he became interested when he heard "Bush," then lost interest again.  He looked over at the newly planted trees across the parkway.  Poor newbies.  Came strait out from Africa, and right around the same time that new building got put in, some kind of sandwich store, and I know a sandwich when I see one, the sqirrels told me about em'.  The food is a luxury for the squirrels, but as for the trees and the other comrades including the animals, that building just encourages the savage creatures to make a bigger mess of the park.  Why, just yesterday morning I woke up to find an abandoned picnic at my stump.  I don't understand it, I didn't even find it to look any bit appetizing, food served in the same niche as garbage!
    Sensing a feeling of boredom, the tree tried to listen to the older men again, both now talking about their children, their jobs, their cars.  The tree could not understand, but somehow he know that it was stupid, immoral, and destructive.  The tree suddenly bled a large gush of sap, and it felt sad.
    "Poor tree," one man said.  "It seems that the poor old thing has nearly met its day."  The other man stood and tipped his hat up.
    "That's crazy talk, it's not like it has feelings."