The Half Dead Tree

     A large magpie sat atop its branches, half flew to the very peak of the tree, cawing loudly to whoever was listening; but no one was listening, as hardly a mouse twitched or a butterfly descended, it was so early morning.
     A soft breeze sprang from nowhere and sighed through what was left of the upper branches. One side of the half dead tree was totally dead, the other half, very much alive. There appeared a curious division from top to bottom, with no evidence as to what had killed off one half of the tree. The shape rounded like a pear as one gazed nonchalantly at its appearance, utterly mystified. The tree was tall, as the live half swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze, that whispered past its troubled boughs in the softness of the summer light.
     The magpie gave another warble from on high, flapped its wings which were black as coal, its breast glistening, white areas clean and bright, swooped downward, then flew across towards the park where it soon settled on a tall eucalyptus tree. Being summer, the eucalyptus like many, had shed a large proportion of its bark which lay around its large peeling trunk. Along a path under the trees, was littered many twigs, branches and fallen leaves. But the half dead tree somehow remained half alive that summer, it was not a known fact it would remain so next summer or the one following.
     An occasional storm presented itself in the form of darkening skies of deep blue and steel-grey clouds, white tipped, threatening the peace of shimmering heat that settled across the park and beyond, like night encroaching upon day. Native parrots screeched loudly as they passed above the half dead tree, fleeing from an oncoming storm, crossing native vegetation below and then over to the golf course on the other side of the meandering creek. Soon the rain came, sheeting down upon the tree, soaking its half dead branches turning them dark, the leaves on the other side glistening after the rain had passed, droplets of cool water dripping to parched earth below. The dead branches never swayed with the wind, but remained still, lifeless, glinting with raindrops.
     When the summer evenings settled on leafy branches, a pale pink hue emanated from the setting sun, casting its magic through the leaves as if the tree was soaking up its warmth and life. It was resplendent in the late afternoon light, almost glowing as a clifftop beacon alerting passing ships, the tree gave off a peacefulness.
     As the summer passed into autumn, days shortened, shadows lengthened, close to where the tree stood overlooking the native vegetation, where tall eucalyptus trees, acacias and other species grew larger with each passing year. 
     Mists formed above the mountain not far away, turning it from blue to mauve in the morning light, then hovered in the valley below, gathering in the park beside the walking path, settling along the surface of the creek where ducks idly paddled over its surface. Sometimes a damp and swirling mist blew mellow through the tree, partially enfolding it in dense moisture descended from the mountain above, where it took on a ghostlike appearance in the autumnal days.
     The nights became bleaker as autumn slowly turned to winter, the last golden leaves fluttered to the ground and the tree soaked up any rain that fell upon its roots. The winter months were never cold enough to whiten the half dead tree with snow, neither did it grow when the weather was cold. In fact, after winter had long gone, warmer days arrived, the half dead tree still maintained one half adorned with leaves as it was not deciduous, while the other half still looked dead, forlorn.
     As the years passed, seasons came and went, the half dead tree appeared to stay the same. The dead half remained dead, while the other half was healthy, unaffected by any further problems. It didn't resist the wind as the other half did, but eventually it grew further, strong and healthy, birds flitted through the boughs rejoicing upon its presence, they chirped to the moon and stars above during summer nights; blackbirds, doves and many native birds of the area, sang its song of life. its loveliness, beauty - its strength.