Uncanny | Laura Spencer

There is a tree I pass everyday on my way to and fro. There is nothing truly remarkable about this tree. It is a small pecan tree, which produces fat, green orbs that hung heavily from its branches taunting the birds with their forbiddeness. Its leaves are a deep, shiny, green covered in sap, and its branches reach out to engulf the sidewalk passing by darkening its aspect with the slow drip of its life blood.

The tree is common and goes about its business without troubling the rest of the world. However, it leaves a lasting impression on me and I avoid the dark reach of its branches every time I pass by taking care to avoid even the smallest shiny pebble which has been tainted by the tree’s sap. It seems ominous—as if the sap dripping from its quiet heart could brand me. You see, the “owners” of this pecan tree have neglected to spray for aphids early in the summer and now the minuscule insects have had plenty of time to inflict numerous small wounds upon the woody plant.

Imagine, if you will, the horror of this daily spectacle. The tree is covered in its own life fluid—its blood! Would we pass by a human being so covered in its own blood with the indifference with which we pass by the tree? Would we skirt a human being who was so attired without reaching out to help? No! Of course, we would reach out our hand to help stop the suffering! Or would we? Do not people suffer and die every day for the lack of such help? And does not someone see them every day? And yet I continue to skirt the tree in a vain effort to deny the dark specter of its message. “I’m sorry,” I whisper “There’s nothing I can do! It’s not my responsibility.”