I am the last. Where once a blanket of green was, now lay a grave of blackish-brown stubs – the footprints of my brothers and sisters. I am the last. The sun rises and peers down on me, its rays dancing upon my arms, filling my veins with warmth, with life. I am the last. They came with great noise, with their plundering tools of metal and giant grunting trolls of pets that roared like the sea and coughed like an erupting volcano. In the distance, I can see other trees, too. They are taller than I am, grown from grey skeletons and leaved with curtains that shine like the surface of the stillest lake. They do not have my beautiful g