If I were a tree, I would be the purple kind. And though I like the ginko leaf, I do not like it enough to have that shape of leaves. I am thinking something more sycamore-shaped, leaves that start orange, then flame red at the end of the season. Just like my Japanese maple, but less crinkled and brittle after they die. They'd still be glossy, waterproof, with a sheen. The purple tree would be in the far edge of a forest, overlooking a wide vista. Some people would come, and once arriving, they would be stunned. They would bring other friends, but only the one who would appreciate the hike and the final sight. People would sit under the tree, poking at the floury soft dirt. Playing with the purple twigs. They would be silent lots of the time, but when they would speak, they would speak from their spine. No cheek. No hand movements. Just words, solid truth, coming from the heartwood.
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