Motionless, daunted, consumed in ambition, it remained certain that with sufficient effort it could uproot itself and walk away. "I am in need of change," it thought. "I will replant myself in the suburbs where I will make new friends, and become a home to creatures now unknown. I will spawn children and grandchildren, and when I eventually rot away, I shall be in the mist of a dense forest." The idea of looking proudly upon its numerous offspring made the mighty tree attempt a smile.
In the winter, he would become naked, and was unsure how trees in the suburbs concealed themselves from this embarrassment. Garments were obviously needed, and clothing implied the exchange of money.
Was there work for an ambitious tree? The post office? "That's steady employment, isn't it? But you have to be able to drive, which," thought the maple, "is a difficult thing to do for a giant such as myself." You can't drive with birds in the vehicle.
Perhaps the answer lay with the problem itself. Was there any possibility of making money by selling pictures of his wintered naked self online first, and securing clothing before jumping into his big move?
Men approached. The tree attempted to move, and found he was too securely rooted. Noises, blackness, unconsciousness. He awoke later in the form of a picnic table and chairs, on a deck also composed of his innards.
He had indeed found a new life in the suburbs.
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Ray Fracalossy is the author of Tale from the Vinegar Wasteland, and a frequent contributor to the New Absurdist whenever it is functional. All around good egg, not deviled in the least.
Copyright Ray Fracalossy
Artwork by Ruth Ruhnke
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