photo credits here, edited.
by celine cheow
Deep into the woods of Irvir-Bleu
Where powerful oaks flanked one another
Where lush canopies sheltered vivid wispy grasses
Stood an ancient tree with a hermit living within.
Who was this hermit? Where did he come from?
No man had ever been able to answer. No, not even the hermit
All they knew was that he made a home out of the hollow and locked himself within
And never venturing out.
From time to time curious passers-by
Would ask the hermit their burning questions.
Why do you trap yourself in there? How long have you thrived in there?
When will you venture out again?
And the hermit would answer:
I stay inside for I know for sure
That this is a place as safe as can be
That this is a place where I can escape from my past and troubles
That this is a place that will one day, for sure,
Bring me up to reach the sky.
Yet, the hermit never questioned himself
Whether it was genuinely better to face no risks and hide from his troubles
Whether stagnating shelter is truly preferable over uncertain wilderness
Whether there are no trees that could bring him forth further.