-By Lily Rogers-
Every morning I like to watch the sunrise. I love the way it dries the dampness of my branches. Sometimes I like to sway in unison with the wind. It can be freezing, damp, dewey, sunny, or snowy. But no matter what, standing right in the middle of Diefenbaker Park is where I want to be. When winter arrives, and white powdery snow covers me like a blanket, children slide down the hill in their funny shaped platforms. It’s hard to focus on them when I have to try to keep forty pounds of snow on my body. One day soon, the snow will melt away, and soon it will become what humans call, “Summer”
At this time of year, it is the hardest to survive. Lots of summer days, I can hear the loud school bell ring, and kids screaming with joy. But that isn’t a problem. We trees barely get any rain, leaving us as dry as can be. During this time, people like to rest underneath me, or lean on the side of me, so they are shielded from the burning sun. Some people treat me poorly. They throw hard objects at me, and kick me. But they could care less. For me, each time it happens, it hurts me like I’ve never been hurt before.
Fall arrives shortly after summer leaving me in the cold. My branches start to fall off, which means I’m getting old. At times, my branches are picked off by humans, and other times, they just fall. I usually watch other trees just fall all together. Not just a branch, but the whole entire tree. And one day, that tree is me. I have fallen to the depths of a sharp chainsaw. Voices are shouting, “She’s a biggy! She’s falling towards the left! Watch out, boys!” Then my body hits the ground with a loud thump. A couple years after my death, the remains of me will be transferred onto a toilet paper rack. I will be flushed, and start all over again.