The horizon is ripe, with the rosy hues of promise, The promise of an uprising, that shall dazzle the world with it's brilliance. I look at the shapeless clouds, the sum of our indefinite fears, the unformed yet omnipresent, the shackles the bind our light. I see the trees, standing tall, in their intangible permanence, the branches held out in a guard of honor, waiting for the promise to bear fruit.
Perhaps it's the trees that really know what is independence. After all they are the only biological organisms that make their own food, and are hence independent. They don't need any other living thing to support their existence. Yet they bear with us all, magnanimous and all-forgiving. Independence for them is responsibility, to shape and sustain their world, and make it a better place to live in. We humans should take some leaves out of their books. No pun intended.
