Sitting Silently in Space

Sitting silently on the earth.

Greenness.

Suddenly loud

buzzing, but buzzing isn’t the right word.

Bees buzz. Vibrating phones buzz. Hair-clippers buzz. It’s kind of the same thing.

Moaning. Whirring. Cutting.

The blades chopped down without warning.

Except there’s plenty of warning. Everyone hears it coming. But there’s nothing you can do. Nowhere to run to even if you could run. Even if you knew you were supposed to run. Just when you were getting so tall and bold. That’s when they come for you. Chop you down so you fit into their idea of how you should look and act.

But you are not a blade of grass. You are a mighty oak tree. You will grow strong and tall.

Eventually they will cut you down anyway. But you will have left your mark.

Your mark. X marks the spot.

You are a treasure. The world is your map.

The world is your oyster, but what does that mean?

Wouldn't you rather be a map than an oyster,

sitting silently in the water?