This piece feels like a meditation on the tension between care and destruction, devotion and exhaustion. The oak becomes more than a tree—it’s a witness, a reflection of all the years of attention, frustration, and the weight of expectation. I read it almost like an internal landscape: the parts of ourselves that nurture, the parts that tire, and the moments when our own power or impulse feels too heavy to contain.
There’s a raw, almost mythic quality to the ending — the darkness folding in, the bark opening, the ooze pulling — that mirrors how unresolved grief, anger, or frustration can feel alive and unstoppable. And yet, even in that reckoning, there’s the possibility of seeing what has been carried, and beginning to reclaim our energy, much like the Little Girl reclaiming her key.
It’s beautiful, brutal, and honest — a reminder that even in our most destructive moments, there’s something to witness, something to learn, and something to bring home with us.
After reading , I felt a mix of emotions. The beginning, with its awe and gentle admiration for the old oak, reminded me of how we feel about things in life that have been with us for a long time—things we both love and find a little burdensome. By the end, when the tree is cut down and darkness closes in, it didn’t feel like punishment, but rather a kind of sad connection. It’s like me—sometimes I feel tired of the repetitive days, yet when I lose those familiar routines or things, there’s an empty space left in my heart.
I love the poem, good message. Trees being chopped down I frown upon and anyone doing it, without good reason, should get their comeuppance.
Oh dear… agree. Was it scary is my wonder? 🤣🤣
Yes, I think so. It’s a slow burner as you have to let the imagery and the ‘what might happen next’ flow into the mind.
I certainly wouldn’t have wanted it as a bedtime story when I was small.
That's what you get for chopping down a tree! Love this!
Oh thank you. But was it scary enough 😅
Stunning writing.
This piece feels like a meditation on the tension between care and destruction, devotion and exhaustion. The oak becomes more than a tree—it’s a witness, a reflection of all the years of attention, frustration, and the weight of expectation. I read it almost like an internal landscape: the parts of ourselves that nurture, the parts that tire, and the moments when our own power or impulse feels too heavy to contain.
There’s a raw, almost mythic quality to the ending — the darkness folding in, the bark opening, the ooze pulling — that mirrors how unresolved grief, anger, or frustration can feel alive and unstoppable. And yet, even in that reckoning, there’s the possibility of seeing what has been carried, and beginning to reclaim our energy, much like the Little Girl reclaiming her key.
It’s beautiful, brutal, and honest — a reminder that even in our most destructive moments, there’s something to witness, something to learn, and something to bring home with us.
Thank you for this amazing insight.
After reading , I felt a mix of emotions. The beginning, with its awe and gentle admiration for the old oak, reminded me of how we feel about things in life that have been with us for a long time—things we both love and find a little burdensome. By the end, when the tree is cut down and darkness closes in, it didn’t feel like punishment, but rather a kind of sad connection. It’s like me—sometimes I feel tired of the repetitive days, yet when I lose those familiar routines or things, there’s an empty space left in my heart.
Thanks. I appreciate your comment 😊❤️
Hi Brenda , with pleasure!😃
You’re a gem 🫶🏻
😳😳 Thanks 😳😳!
Beautiful
Thank you.