The world has been huge since he opened his eyes. He can’t tell when or how he came here, and all he could see is the colossal grass extend to the azure bright sky. It seems like a fine rain just wakes him up. During the spring days, he just lies in the wettish mud and gazing the tiny dots skim over the sky, enjoying their crescendo echoes and arcuate trails. After the bright azure is substituted by the pitch-black sky embellished with twinkle stars, he just closes his eyes and listens to the weeny vibration caused by underground insects.

After the continuous pattering of another heavy rainfall, he found himself to be elevated a little, but covered by large grass and exposed to limited sunlight, he still lacks enough energy and could not reach the top of the grass, thus, there’s nothing he can do but to try the best of his ability to absorb the moisture and nutrient around him. Striving few days, he finally reaches the top. It was his first time to see above the soil and grass; It was his first time to know that the sky is much bigger than the land, and it was his first time to replenish himself by the warm sunbeam.

The next stage of his life is youth, after he reached enough height and developed long, slender branches and pointed tops, he finds himself wasn’t alone, countless gigantic trees composed the vast forest behind him. He then surprisingly discovered that he rooted just on the boundary between the forest and verdant grassland. He can both enjoy sufficient energy from the sun and nutrients from raindrops. His favorite thing is standing there, and when the dusk comes, gazing at the obscure sun till it’s vanished in the distant horizon.

As time goes by, decades pass within a flash. The tree has grown from a tiny sapling to a tall giant with luxuriant foliage. This is the tree’s Prime of Life, at this stage, he has developed full, round-topped crowns, filled with long, strong branches. He can’t remember how many birds or squirrels had left traces on his bark. All he could do is to provide a suitable shelter for these little creatures during an intense fall.

His middle-age came in one pleasant autumn when crowns are flattened out as limbs grow thicker and heavier, all of his leaves are decorated into gold. As the continuous breeze touching the branches, there will always have ten or twenty leaves that could not resist the longing for freedom, and fall into the tiny cyclones. Some of them are too delicate, hang in the air for a while and then fall to the ground, while others are tough, they fly away and start their own adventure, in the staring of the tree, further and further.

One day, the tree found his bark began to fade, some of them even fall off from his body. He then realized the thing that he has never thought of—his eventual fatality. In his fifth stage (senior), the tree maintained the flat-topped canopies of heavy limbs, sometimes covered in short sprouts. Gaps start appearing in the canopy as the major limb systems start dying out. He often feels tiny vibrations caused by various insects spreading around his tree trunk, but he doesn’t pay much attention to them. To the tree, these rustling insects are no more than some unauthorized passengers, and their so-called “whole life” was no more than a twinkle of an eye.

We say death is not terrible, it is just a ladder into heaven. Death is merely a flash of beauty, like fireworks exploding in the night sky, like petals falling into the water. Step into the sixth stage, the tree greets the coming of the Twilight. At this time, his formerly colossal and brawny limbs die and break off, leaving a small crown of scattered large limbs and short twigs. Even the touch of an occasional wind can crinkle his scant leaves with no sweat. Nevertheless, he feels quite satisfied with his whole life, and there’s nothing for him to worry about.

Ultimately, during a cold winter, during an unprecedented night downpour where frantic windstorm accompanied by peals of thunder, the teetering tree collapsed with a bang. His whole body was torn into tiny pieces, the drastic flow scrambly flood into his hollow trunk, the tree is inwardly aware that he can’t make it through this night. Lies in the chill flow, he somehow recalled the scene when he opened his eyes for the first time, everything seemed so vigorous and everywhere was brimmed with harmony. Once a fine rain waked him up, and now a heavy rain led him to death, this is how nature functions. Companied with the rhythm of the falling rain, the tree closed his eyes. Upon his collapsed body, a shooting star streaked across the endless firmament, left an arc-like track and its fleeting silhouette.