The boy who walked with the trees.

There once was a boy who walked with the trees. Who whispered his secrets to the quiet of the forest. Who rested in their branches. The trees in return supported his sorrows. They sheltered him from experiencing any more pain. They knew his story and they did not murmur it amongst themselves as they do with other mortals secrets. They knew his pain was sacred, was important. They saw his heart and shuttered at how deep the pain went. It went deeper than the deepest flesh wound. They recognized that this boy, was dug up by his roots. He was hacked to pieces, and left to dry out. His heart was as dry and hard as petrified wood, and just as beautiful. The trees wanting to help would pick up the boy and sway his sorrow in the crooks of their branches, they would let the wind make sweet lullabyes for the boy, by dancing between their leaves. But sometimes, mortals are left alone for too long to be saved. Sometimes, they dont want to be saved at all. Sometimes their sorrow owns them, defines them, becomes their blood type. Trees have powers; to lift, to protect, to heal, and perhaps someday, the healing they can provide will soak in, so that it becomes real, but until that day the boy who walks with the trees, will wait, and listen, and learn to be.