Today’s Prompt: Describe yourself as a tree.
Ooh goodie some nonsense. I love nonsense. Here are 7 aspects of myself imagined as trees.
My independent self
I am a mangrove tree, I live in salt water estuaries.
I have bright leaves, my bark is rough, speckled like eyespots on potatoes. My roots run shallow through the water, tightly interwoven to catch muddy debris until I build up an island of soil in my belly.
My roots lift me high from the water so when the floods rise, my branches and leaves stand dry.
My dreaming self
I flower when the moon comes out, pale and bland, but to the fruit bats I waft sweet savor and offer drizzling nectar.
My roots grow up through the desert floor and stretch like blind octopuses for the liquid of starlight.
I grow starfruit from my spines, fat, neon green, fed by the sky.
I cast my wilted seeds like dandelion fluff, swirled by dust devils, planted in the rocks and sand to sprout midnight flowers.
My logical self
I am a Minecraft tree.
My sabotaging self
A strangler fig, a mistletoe, it’s better to suffocate what could grow just in case it crashes down the rest of this forest.
My hidden self
Lonely amongst all these trees, I am a bright orchid, colorful and blooming.
I hide my true self behind show-stopping grandeur, you’ll never catch the glow of my petals outside the limelight. For when the flashy display goes down, I shapeshift to an unfamiliar creature.
My emotional self
I have the maturity of a bristlecone pine.
I have lived for thousands of years, adding rings of growth to my core. I sprout needles to the sun, I trust carefully, slowly. Singe part of my bark and I may die there, but a single branch will love on, through the seasons, through the centuries.
My writer self
I am a red pine tree.
Thousands of pine needle sprout in pairs; a cluster of one splits into two.
Thousands of words I write sprout in pairs; a definition of one figuratively means two.