Chameleon

I was a sapling once, a small tree for those of you not using big words yet.
I grew from a seed that flew from the tree that was my mother.
I am not sure how far I landed from her, or even which one of this forest she is.
I look like most of those around me.
I grew and I grew until I was the tallest tree in the forest, I could see over the crown of all the others.
Well at least I did until those men came and cut me down, with saws and axes.
Some of those closest to me felled also.
That means we hit the ground with a crash and broke our limbs and crushed our leaves.

I was striped of all my limbs and all my leaves, and lashed, that means tied down for those not using fancy words yet, to a wagon with those who fell near me.
I was hauled across the edge of the forest and into the barren lands they call prairies.
I was not sure where I was headed and I wished for my limbs and my leaves back so I could shed this rain off my bark.

They laid me on a set of rolls and started slicing me apart, I was made into thin layers.
I felt strange not being whole anymore, but they kept my pieces together, except for my bark and the little curved pieces that they just let fall.
They stacked me in a shed, and closed the doors on me, and it was dark like the night, when the moon does not come out to play.
And it was dark long past a day I know. I am no longer sure how much time I sat in there
with my sap drying up. Then the doors flew wide once day, and the sky was bright and blue.

Alas I was weary again, I was pulled and stacked and lashed yet again to a wagon. If you are still not using those words it means they tied me down again.
The wagon rumbled away with me. I was fraught with anxiety, which means I was scared.
I wasn’t sure where they were taking me again, but I knew it couldn’t be better than the last time. The blue sky started to fade and clouds rolled over my head, and just as I began wishing for my limbs, and my leaves, and my bark, the man stopped the wagon and covered me with a tarpaulin of canvass, that’s a giant leaf you see. I thought then I might like this man better than the last.

It was several days and several nights when we finally stopped and he took the horses away. He called to another man, but one that looked like he might be a sapling to me, that means he was but a boy. Together they pulled me out of the wagon piece by piece, and laid me in neat little stacks on shelves along the wall.

When the man opened the door the next morning, he just walked around running his hands over me. He made me feel safe, better than when I was taken from the forest, and better than when I was sliced into these little pieces. He and the sapling pulled me down one at a time and took little tools and made my sides smooth.

He made little pieces and big pieces of me, but I was not afraid, he was kind and gentle and made sure to rub me and whisper to me of my beauty. He formed me, and put me back together with little holes and notches. I was a wonder to behold and he promised where I was going I would feel safe and beautiful.

Here I have stood now in this same place not moved an inch, just like the sapling I once was. I stand here as thousands walk by, and they all look up and admire me. They speak in whispers and I hear them say the man’s name often. I wish he was still here, but all I have is the saplings sapling, that his grandson for those of you keeping track.