The tree lived in the jungle

With its roots dug deep into the dirt 

With its trunk hosting the moss that crept up on it 

With its branches harboring the birds in their nests

With its leaves still attached.

Then, when winter comes

The birds migrate south 

And the leaves depart.

Maybe one day 

The tree will realize that it lived in a desert

With no dirt 

With no moss 

With no birds in their nests

And no leaves. 

Just slowly burning in the desert. 

Unable to move.

Alone.