Rain blew through the forest as the storm tossed limbs and branches in its torrential fury. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed. The crack of a birch, weakened by unseen pests eating it from the inside out, reverberated over the commotion as it slammed to the ground, crushing the brush and bushes around it.

     And then – in an instant – it was over. Droplets glistened on both bough and leaf. A nearby river rushed loudly with the memory of the storm just past. A chipmunk’s bright eyes peeked out of its hiding place and a couple of deer took tentative steps nearby. And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

It was on that night that a little girl was born. She was given all she desired and more than she needed. And she grew, through the seasons and signposts of life, diligently working toward her goals, finding beauty and glory and seeking more. Always more.

And every year she visited the forest that called to her and spent a day at the base of the old tree thinking – no, pondering – as hope and discouragement, good and evil, light and dark played tag in her soul.

And although myriad paths lay open to her, she considered prestige and power a worthy aim and chose that path which offered most and best. And she got it. For there are in life ways some do not recognize or chose to know; but for those who seek them, their allure calls clearly and relentlessly.

She attended the best schools where she learned to think in the accepted manner; not only learned, but embraced the lessons that scoffed at old wisdom and blessed those that tore its fabric. She acquired beauty at the cost of dignity, fortune at the cost of integrity, and success at the cost of legitimacy.

She followed the clear and relentless path to dark places and shadowy travelers. She made everyone around her a servant and thought of those she did not know, slaves. Others’ lives became a means to an end, and she didn’t hesitate regardless of hurt or harm her actions might cause; until life became as expendable as used package wrapping.

She gave in to gluttony, but was never satiated. Whatever of the many things she’d dreamed and worked to gain were never enough. She began to think of herself as a god, really. No one was higher or should be. She was greater than anyone! Larger than life, even bigger than creation! She had it all and would control it all, too!

And then a storm came; quietly and slowly at first, as some storms do. It continued, and disturbed her. Putting her hands over her ears, she demanded it stop. But the wind rose higher and the rain pelted harder. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed.

It occurred to her that the old tree beneath which she had sat and pondered and planned in her youth, and later neglected until it was forgotten, could be a shelter. Running to the forest, she looked but couldn’t find it. At last she was spent. Raging at the storm and any who had the audacity to cross her, she lay on the ground, cursing until the very end. The ground swallowed her weaselly body, and the rain washed away the filth of her life.

And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

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