I am afraid of dying so I went to the trees.
Trees live a very long time so I asked them if they were afraid of death.
One birch, young and white and lithe, said that she feared death.
She bundled me up into her thin branches and held me close. I hugged her trunk and asked if we could protect each other from death.
She asked if I could protect her from the strong winds that push trees over or from lightning that burns then down.
No, I cannot do that.
I asked if she could protect me from illness that kills so many of my kind.
No, she said, she cannot do that.
I went home, sad that there seemed to be no protection from death.
I lay in my bed and looked at my wooden walls and my wooden ceiling. I asked the trees that formed my home if they feared death.
Death is just a transition, they said. Their voices were whispers and echos. Do not fear the change for we trees are always with you.
I asked what they meant.
We hold you when you live, protecting you from storm and sun. We hold you when you die, your casket, your last bed.
We are planted by your graveside and our roots go down deep to where you lie. We are always with you. You do not transition alone.
