Hollow

Today, as I was walking down the street in front of my house, I saw a dead tree. Well, actually, I didn't know that it was dead at first. However, as I passed by, I hit one of its branches, which promptly dropped to the ground. Then, because the tree's quiet lack of life intrigued me, I walked up to it. It was bare, of course, and the bark was a light brown, with plenty of knots and holes. I followed the meaningless path of a lone ant up the trunk, and then sat down. For some reason, this spot, this thing, intrigued me.

First, I thought about the ant. Why was he here? Surely, as part of the incredible unstoppable force that is nature, he knew that the tree was dead. So why, then, did he continue to climb toward some unknowable goal? He must have been sent there, by his queen, for some mission of reconnaissance. Or was he a forsaken poet, one thinking blip of individuality in a monotonous ant civilization. Better still, a scorned lover, of his queen, perhaps, exiled to a dead, barren wasteland for loving she who is the mother of us all. As he reached the apex of his climb, he turned, and began the journey down. Then, it didn't matter as much, because he was gone, disappeared in a lapse of attention on my part.

Next, I contemplated the tree itself. The bark was still alive, or appeared so, so why was the tree dead. An idea struck me, and I knocked on the trunk of the tree like it was the door of a dear friend. A second later, a distorted version of my knock came back to me. Hollow. The tree was completely hollow. This struck a cord with me, and a sudden desire to wax metaphysical came over me. Was this not a metaphor for our own lives? Alive on the outside, but hollow and hurting on the inside? Can we revive ourselves, and if we do, what happens to that ant, that small person depending on our presence as a dead area to fulfill some goal? Is everything we do selfish; can we help ourselves and others at the same time.?

Then my head started to hurt, and I felt that my blood sugar was low. It was lunchtime, and my stomach was cursing me for my lack of punctuality. As I walked into my house, I stopped. I looked at the door I held in my hand and thought. Then I knocked one time. Hollow.