the logic of things

the logic of things

once upon a time, a man was standing on a hill when he saw a tree that is so splendidly beautiful. the tree was flowering some white long strands of cotton-like mums that when blown by the wind, it gives off a very unique but endearing aroma. it was once said that this aroma can fill up empty souls searching for meaning in life. the man went under the tree and there, he observed how each leaf move with the wind and how the slowly rythm of each sway fill the air with its distinct aroma. while observing, he noticed how each branch was beautifully and intricately designed with dents and creases. it looked as if someone painstakingly carved on each branch of the tree. how he marveled at the magnificence of the tree.
as his eyes followed each dent, each crease, each depression, he noticed something strange. he noticed a small unripened fruit at one side of the tree. the fruit shone with brightness against the sunlight and as it swayed in the sun, he felt like he tasted the fruit. he was so intruiged by the fruit; how is it that it is the only fruit in the tree and when will it ever ripen for him to savor the sweetness of its juices. he dreamed to taste it and made a promise to himself to wait under the tree until the day he sees the fruit ripen. he stayed on that hill until the sun set in the horizon. he stayed there, under the tree, feeling the coldness of the night. he was there.
for days, he just sat there, telling his life stories to the tree. hours, days, weeks past, and he just stayed there - gazing under the tree and admiring its beauty.
weeks after, just as the sun greets the morning skies, he saw something at the side of his head. his vision was still blurred and each part of his body was still paralyzed by sleeping in the cold. he stared at the thing for minutes while gathering up his strength to beat the paralysis out of his body. he looked around and he saw the tree above him. the flowers dancing to the wind. the same branches, the same dents, the same depressions. the same hill. he knew he felt something soft on his head that night. he knew he did. he looked again at the spot where the fruit was. and it wasnt there. he knew he slept at the same side of the tree. he knew he did. he looked for it again. he thought his vision was still unclear. he thought the tree was so alive and was playing games with him. he looked for it and it wasnt there.
so he gathered his strength for the second time to look at the patch where he laid. he saw the fruit. it was the same fruit that shone in the sun weeks before. he knew it was. he looked at it. took a deep breath and held it in his palms. as he was feeling the smoothness of the fruit with his fingertips, he can feel his heart beat.
then, he caressed the fruit and he put it back from where it lay before.
he walked back, looking at the fruit, looking at the tree. then slowly, pacingly, he walked away.

under the magnificent tree, the fruit, once again, shone in its brightness under the morning sun.

it never ripened.