It is... very late. Or perhaps very early. I’ve lost track. The crew left hours ago. The thermos is empty. And yet, I remain—drawn inexplicably to this lone tree, standing far off from its companions, as if it requested solitude and was granted it.
One wonders, at my age, what compels a man to chase silhouettes in the desert. Is it duty? Curiosity? Or simply the quiet thrill of bearing witness to something that doesn’t need to be witnessed at all?
The tree itself is unremarkable in stature. But its placement—its distance—gives it a kind of gravity.
Far off, it waits. Not for us. Not for the sun. But for the next moment. The next breath. The next influencer to pass by and mistake it for a landmark.
And so I stay. Not because I must. But because some things deserve to be seen, even if they never asked for it.
 
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