Let me tell you more about this mystical tree which draws my attention from afar. imagine this if you will; a dead poplar tree in the distance. its black arms in the night, waving violently; trying to fight away the awful experience of life. Its zombie body laying on the hill backshadowed by the moon. The mighty moon. its rotted legs are breaking now, and its face is yellowish green. he is weeping forcefully, and shaking. as if a silent predator was hitting him in the back. blow after blow, he coughs like he has something in his wooden throat. then finally after numerous successions of forcefull sessions, the tree snaps and breaks. It comes crashing down to the earth, where the moon is shining a dull fiery yellow. The man on the moon looks at the dead tree, with its glorious eyes, and whispers life. he silently whispers, as if he was weeping; "broken down fallen tree, come to me, come to me" at first the chant of the moon barely falls apon the ears of the deaf tree, but then it gets louder. until its so loud, the ears of the once deaf tree are ringing. ringing. ringing. And the wolf drinking from the spring nearby howls, as if to warn people all over the world that magic is happening. Its still ringing now, and the tree is crying. and every tear it crys falls to the ground in hardening. The tear shaped drop filled with salty truth, drops to the ground with a crash. What once were tears, now are frozen in time; peices of evidence for the detectives that will forever investigate this peice of history. The bark of the tree, which was recently as thin as a peice of paper, is now a raging growl; a warning to all those weak; to all those without a source of power; to all those dead. | 
