The Last Wish

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The wishing tree lay fallen on her side. Once stretching to the heavens, emerald leaves hiding monkeys from view, she now sprawled across the jungle floor. Branches grown twisted for the safe keeping of bird nests now down-spiraled into dirt. Every uplifted bough had smashed through the younger, smaller trees, splitting them in pieces as feathers floated out and fluttered down.

How mighty the thud must have been.

The wishing tree once stood tall, taller than we ever knew. Cows grazed leaves that once only clouds kissed. Her base was so wide, a dozen people could have ringed around her. Perhaps once they did, hand in hand, and chanting, ages ago, before the road was there.

She would have had a couple hundred years as a celebrated Ceiba, a sacred tree, so the locals say. They say the Ceiba tree is the link between worlds, its roots planted amongst us humans, and its branches guarding the heavens.

I often drove past the wishing tree, heading towards another favorite local beach, the road bending around her. Admiring her greatness, and she was great, my eyes could never take in her full height and width.

With every pass, I’d speak to her. Hands on the wheel, I’d let slip words of gratitude for whatever was working out for me…