As soon as the wound becomes unbearable, he reaches for a tree and leand his aching shoulder. The steps he took became more narrower and narrower, and the tree feels like farther and farther away.
Madre! - as he screams under his breath.
The tree was too far for his fall. His shoulder brushes the tree bark and the tree embraced his aching soul with fresh leaves of grass. He has fallen into her shadow.
Madre! Nothing was heard by anyone but the tree.
He bled a little too much, for a little too long, and painstakingly far from base. The day is too fresh - even the dawn is still too early. The dew is a blessing though: his blodied back really needed a soft cold landing.
Madre... Madre... Madre...
No one was there but the tree. Even his shallow call for help didn't break this serene song of this early morning.
Ma... Ma...
Can you please reach my hand, Ma?
Hug me and lift me to my bed, Ma?
I am a little too lonely, and even I can no longer hear my own voice
Can you please be here for me?
Ma?
Ma...
...?
Then his soul became one with the tree, wrapped his flesh and absorbed his bones
My Son...