Starts very typically with a very stormy night with wind lashing anger at the tangible world, not letting anything withstand it and underestimating the obstinacy this world is capable of demonstrating.
It swished from one side to the other, it hissed and whooped! With its branches stretched out to be its armor the tree persisted in its effort. Snap! Crack! Pain shot through down to the roots. A branch loosened its grip on the tree; the shield threatened to break against the ruthlessness. The tree leaned to an extreme side looking dangerously vulnerable. It held on to the loosely hanging branch, not the one to let go so easy, enervated it still focused on its priority of preserving everything about himself as it had been , as it was and as it had to stay. Fraught but standing on its own the tree settled its dying limb/fading dreams/withering fraction on crutches on a nearby roof. Relief! The anchors finally been set, safety promised…
Everyday I look at that tree self destruction is redefined. The branch is pulling the tree down and in another week there won’t be much of the tree left. And in another month it would probably have silently died a willing victim’s/martyr’s death. Sustenance of a wound is liable to be fatal. The anchors just threatening to pull down the whole ship and there isn’t much the captain has been taught to do in such a situation; after all he believes blindly in the anchor as an ally.
I hope I remember to tell the gardener to cut off that branch; the tree deserves to live, even if it is at the cost of letting go of a very important part of itself; letting go of a whole piece of himself promises life after all!
The tree would be standing high on its own again, without crutches holding him down.
…So why not? Let go!