Reporter: Greetings, tree. How long have you stood here?
Tree: Long before its beginning. I have witnessed the
sunsets, experienced the sunrises, and withstood all the noons in between. The
wind has sighed through my boughs since I was a seedling, the salted breeze that
sweeps through the sea. I have gazed at the silver moon… But to my
disappointment, have not seen the stars, which are invisible to us.
Reporter: You are quite poetic, tree. I wonder - Would you
like to have been planted somewhere elsewhere?
Tree: Perhaps where the wind is not quite strong… And where
there are more plants and birds to keep me company… But a tree does not
complain.
Reporter: What have you learned from the hurricane?
Tree: That nothing lasts forever, not even me. But the trees
that stand are the trees that endure. I will be here for many more years yet.
Reporter: A nice remark on the essence of mortality. What
happened to other trees?
Tree: Many trees that have stood have remained.
But some of my old friends shriveled to nothing. A pine tree, which wasn’t even
dead, was cut down because someone somewhere didn’t like that his crown had
snapped. And of course, the hundred new oak seedlings didn’t stand a chance.
But that is life.
Reporter: And it indeed is. I grant you good luck on the
gales that will come.
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Criticism is appreciated. Rudeness is not.