Always read the smallprint

Decided to enter a competition to write 500 words on the subject of liberty for Liberty. It was only after I'd finished, I released that, as a published author, I was ineligible to enter. Oh, well. You can read it, instead. As you may have guessed, it's entitled: Liberty.

 

I am about one-hundred and thirty years old and still dream of striding out upon the hills to see what is on the other side.

            I first learnt to count when I was probably a sapling of twenty-six. A young boy – a toddler of three – and a young woman took shade under my immature branches on numerous warm, summer days, and she taught him the basics of literacy on a slate. I believe she was his governess.

            I have always been fascinated by humans. I had taken root close to the river where my Jay carrier had buried my acorn seed, some way downstream of the small community of my older relatives living in their self-made copse at the far end of the next field. I could occasionally hear their voices on the wind, but I was too far away to be involved in any day-to-day conversations. Learning to count, and the gaining of knowledge, became a quest.

            And so I grew. And welcomed each new Spring when I, and my fellow oaks, awoke from our slumber and I could learn.

            Because I found knowledge is not only to be found from children, but is also out there on the wind, its information whispering to anyone with a care to listen. I digested philosophy, religion, science, politics and all manner of history.

            So it was that I knew that the fragile-looking creature I spotted one morning in the sky, a year after the governess had been forced to stop coming because of her Suffragette activities, was called an aeroplane. I envied it could fly so high that it could see over the hill.

            There were many more to spot over the years as the airborne machines advanced in design, many more to envy their easy freedom. For even as they became faster, they all retained that potential carefree exuberance seemingly available at a whim.

            But nothing comes for free.

            Years after the governess, I saw a Spitfire chase a burning Junkers and watched men fall to earth, their parachutes long, flaming flowers.

            I saw a thunderous massed formation of American Flying Fortresses. I saw how many did not return.

            And the reward for obtaining the liberty so craved by humans then, is that I have seen the International Space Station speed across the glittering heavens at night as Humanity strives to reach beyond its own hills.

            But it, like the aeroplanes, is just a tool for solving problems.   

            Because I have also watched people – walking, cycling, riding horses – and felt jealous of their simple ability to wander. And I have seen them grow old – indeed, one had her ashes scattered in the shade of my broad branches – but they have never felt weary of stating their curiosity.

            It is a liberty I crave – a concept I shall never obtain.

            But I dream.

            One day, I will haul these stout roots from the soil and stagger to the hill and see what lies on the other side. And be free.