The blade slashes the young tree. The trunk bleeds from water dripping from the scars. The roots are buried deep in the ground, unaware of the world breaking above. All they feel is a thunder of ground shaking and warmth passing away. Their lives are suddenly devoid of purpose and need. They were as meaningless as the melted snow. All they had known was to labour for water. The water contains nutrients and food for the world above. They were proud workers who never let the leaves go hungry. When the soil was dry, they travelled past rocks and stretched their limits to go deeper and wider in search of water. They selfishly gave what they found to their loved ones. This series of works passed 116 months until the day the axemen decided to cut it. The tree loved its roots for everything. They believed in their love in the scorching sun or the heavy rains. They never doubted the roots or gave up. They were right to trust. They never gave up, even after the blade touched their love. They collected water and sent it away in vain. With no one to blame, the water bled from the cut. The world above never answered the root's cries. It would never know what happened to the world above. Never know how the tree bowed to the ground to kiss the roots goodbye. A kiss of death takes away the warmth. The abandoned roots lay in the dark, screaming without sound for their love to answer. It curled in the cold soil. The world shrank without air and sunlight, letting grief suffocate and close its lungs. They whispered, "I love you," and followed the tree to another world.
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