dendroclimatology

am i meant to forgive the axe for not meaning to hit the knot at my centre when it came down on me? for breaking me into uneven, asymmetrical kindling instead of splitting me cleanly? for hurting me less efficiently?

am i supposed to comfort the axe? am i unfair if i don't try to reason with it, to see its side of all of this? it only needed firewood. it wasn't personal - am i wrong if that makes me angry?

am i rude to point out that the hand that wields the axe planted me? is it wrong for the sapling to resent the woodcutter that cultivated it? was my only purpose for being nurtured to be one day used to make you more comfortable? for you plans?

maybe i could have gotten lucky and become the tree for a treehouse. maybe the home for a swing. maybe the last perch of a rare species of owl, maybe the summer home of the swallows, or the favourite meeting spot of childhood.

maybe i could have been a Christmas tree, even, if you had to cut me down. if you really couldn't avoid destroying me. if that was the inevitable point. maybe i could have become a table. maybe a bed. maybe i could have become part of your house - God knows being nailed to the wall is the only way i really would've.

does it slip your mind that the handle of the axe is often wood?