[ WP ] The trees are whispering

I walked through the forest for hours, looking for a marked tree. The crews had been very careful to place their chalk'X' on only the most perfect trees, so as not to upset the client. My ax was sharpened and oiled, ready to strike a blow. 
 
 The day was mild and a light breeze swept the morning fog off to whence it came. My job was lonely at points, but the forest was always there for me. It felt like I was part of it at times, like it knew what I was feeling. It understood my sorrow, my joy. 
 
 I sat down in the shade of a giant maple, and looked up. My eyes drifted across the fateful'X', and I knew what must be done. But as I stood, I heard a long, beautiful groan. It sounded like an old man standing from a chair, an old man with a thousand stories to tell. I pressed my ear to the bark, in my way of saying sorry to the old tree, when it uttered a very low whisper. 
 
 `` Your Mother was a whore.''
