A Tale of a Willow Tree, a Mouse & My Superiority...

I was roughly ten years old when I experienced my first taste of superiority and regret. I was next to a willow tree that I'd planted alongside the family lighthouse, perched high upon the cliffs of Lake Michigan...

After being berated by my father for some triviality, I decided to sort my frustrations out by venturing through the fields and traipsing about. Much shaking of head, mumbling of lips and stomping of feet were had.

I walked past my favorite tree. A willow that I had planted from a single branch from another willow years ago. I loved this tree. It was the first of many that I'd planted but this was my favorite. I was so excited to watch it grow. In four years, it grew twenty feet into the air and grandly loomed over me. I was so very proud of it ... but that day, I did not consider it's grandeur.

I tore through the underbrush that splayed under it's weeping limbs. It had now grown to such great heights in so few years that I cursed it.

"Why couldn't I grow that quickly?"!!!!

"Fuck you tree!" I thought (although I did not know the word fuck at that time but the sentiment was there)

"How'd you get so big so quickly? If I was that big, nobody would talk to me the way my father just did!"

I was so angry. Rage flowed through my temples. Frustration built...

Aaargh!

I looked down and saw a baby mouse scurrying from what must have been a terrifying sight. I reacted with haste and alacrity.

I STOMPED!

I lifted my foot and off he went. Scurrying through the underbrush he darted.

STOMP!

He wasn't gonna get away from me, I thought, ha ha ...

I lifted my foot and he dashed away.

Damn, he's quick. I'm quicker though, so the chase went on. I stomped and he fled.

Stomp ... flee

Stomp ... flee

Stomp ... flee

A crafty fellow was he but I knew I'd have him.

STOMP!!!

HaHa! I knew that I'd gotten him. Then something quite tragically remarkable had happened.

"Shit" I closed my eyes whilst knowing what I had done. "SHIT!"

Please be alive, I thought. Of course you're alive. Please scurry away as I lift off my firmly planted foot. Please ... please ... please ... be alive.

Please don't be dead!

I gently lifted my foot and there he was, just laying there. No quick reflex reaction. No scurrying. No anything.

Just dead eyes staring up at me.

I lightly tapped him with my foot ... no response.

Hoping that it was a rouse, I knelt down and touched him with my finger, half expecting to be startled by his sudden bolt but that was not meant to be.

I'd killed him. I'd pursued him and stomped him dead. A baby mouse.

i killed him

I wept as I picked him up.

"Please be alive! Please please please, be alive!"

But he wasn't. He was quite dead. There was nothing I could do to bring him back.

I sat for a few hours with that dead baby mouse in my hands. I sat with him under my willow tree.

Regret and shame flooded through my veins.

What a big man I was. I killed because I could.

I buried that mouse under my willow tree.

I looked up and felt shame for my unjust brutality. I felt shame for using my strength and superiority in such a way. I was embarrassed for this act. An act that my willow tree had witnessed.

There's a reason why we live for more than a millisecond. We make many mistakes. Oodles and oodles of them. Pride and embarrassment make us cower from them but with some luck, humility and courage allow us to learn from them.

That was a hard day for me. To experience is to learn .... however unpleasant or mortifying. To learn is to accept such follies and alter one's course.

I was ashamed that day and yet, I leaned upon my willow after the brutality was done. I leaned upon that tree for many more years to come and I thought about that little mouse more that one can imagine.

All content on this web site, such as text, graphics, logos, images, offensive butt wiping materials and hence therefore unto such stuff ... are the property of La Republique Nationale, LLC (LRNtoday)

Copyright 2017, La Republique Nationale, LLC. All Rights Reserved. All Content Copyright and other rights reserved by its Respective Owners. No Content May Be Duplicated Without Express Written Consent. a P.I.G. Production.