That one afternoon I saw a glimpse of you lingering in the horizon. You had a victory of some sort, I guessed. You and the clouds were in a bitter quarrel over your work shifts and I had not seen you in the longest time. This visit would be short-lived, too. The winter has never been fond of you.
So after all the chasing and running, I finally reached you. It was the first time I saw you two together.
He was something grander than any other tree you had ever encountered. He described Timbuktu in the greatest detail to you and gossiped about Zanzibar's love affair with the princess of Oman. When you recite his stories to me, I never asked who was Timbuktu or what kind of a plant Zanzibar might have been.
Once he told you about the moon that most certainly was not made of cheese. The Little Prince had revealed to him that the moon made of cheese was an invention of humans to nurture their desire for something greater than their lives. Humans have the perpetual need to long for a meaning beyond their imagination and henceforth they have invented different embodiments of gods for absolution and a moon made of cheese.
He painted a world you had never seen, not like this. You are the sun and he is a tree on the beach of the crown's mountain. He has never left his roots, but he knows the world out there. The very same world that revolves around you not because she wants to be with you, but because she needs you. It is a relationship of a little consequence to you; you may not have the Earth, but you have him and what you two had was the universe.
Whenever you meet, he shares with you the latest gossip the sea has brought to him. I have heard you recounting his stories to me, but now I heard him telling you something about the moon's plans to write a novel about cheese and the stars had taken offence at it. He was well aware of your fascination with the moon and her life.
I did not hear it all as I left. It was your moment to have. Next time when we meet you will tell me all about it, gleefully and exhilaratingly, adding your own flair to the story.
Settle your disagreements with the clouds, so I can see you sooner than later. Until next time.