When I was young, the old ones told stories of a time when the forest was peaceful. Thousands upon thousands of years in the time before the men came with their axes and saws, to cut or to chop. It was such a long time ago and I was small and thin when I heard these stories, but I remember them so clearly. They gave me the determination to grow up through the dark towards the distant sky.
One day, men came through the forest. They walked past me and stopped beside Alfred, my uncle. We could do nothing. We shook our branches, but the sound did not deter the men from their crime. They chopped their axes into Alfred and he crashed to the forest floor with such a great noise. It took them a week to carry his body away, piece by piece.
Alfred's death was my life. My leaves were kissed by the sun for the first time. I remember the feeling of sadness for my uncle replaced by the pure joy of sunlight. It washed over me, it reached deep into my heart and I grew . Each year made me bigger and stronger. I remember every day, every season, every year. I grew up towards the pure light of the sun. Through fires and storms, burning summers and winter snow.
Centuries have passed since that day, and I have seen all of my family and friends lost to old age or the cruel axes of men. My mother, my father, my sons and daughters all fell, one by one. But men changed, and now they carry no axes, only measuring tapes and video cameras. They come, not to hurt me, but to support me. I am loved, but I am alone.