The Bends in the Branches

Trevor was the kind of guy to look at the trees, enjoy their shade, and wonder why their branches grew the way they did. Even though each originated from the same bark, they all seemed destined to grow in different ways.

One might sprout from the tree’s northern face, or its southern, or any degree in between. It might grow strong and firm to weather the storms, or remain thin and malleable to bend and flow. What truly perplexed Trevor was how some seemed to shoot toward the sun in defiance of the ground, while others softly descended in acquiescence. 

Trevor was certain there had to be one objective, universal truth that could explain it all, some kind of equation with an exorbitant-- but finite-- number of variables. These variables would include, but are not limited to:

• the sequence of each nucleotide in the branch’s DNA (even the telomeres)
• the exact date and time of germination, within 1✕10^-4 zeptoseconds of precision
• the latitude, longitude, and altitude in relation to the Earth
• the x-, y-, and z-coordinates in relation to the trunk
• the velocity of the wind
• the volume of the rain
• how many deer will defecate in its soil
• how many birds will fornicate in its shade

When you plug-in the values for the variables, the equation could predict where a branch would sprout, how strong it would grow, and which direction it would shoot; the branch’s fate, from the very beginning. It would be a complex and robust equation, but it could be written and it would be infallible.

Trevor wondered if the equation’s results could ever predict when a branch would stop growing; when it would snap at a bend and which bend would get snapped; when its bark would petrify and crumble. He actually didn’t wonder-- he hoped.

This reminded him of beliefs his grandmother had passed onto him. She was certain God had a plan, or something like that. A grand, elaborate scheme with twists, turns, rises, and dives. It involved every single rock, plant, and animal (including humans), and they all had a distinct role to play and conclusion to reach. She always told Trevor this in response to any hurdle, set-back, or tragedy he’d face, but hearing it always sounded like cope to Trevor’s ears. He was cynical and closed to religion from a young age and the idea of a benevolent higher-being with an all-encompassing plan always sounded like a fairy tale to him. 

“And plus, if God is powerful but there’s still evil in the world, is He really so good? Or maybe God is good but there’s just nothing He can do about the evil, is He still powerful then?” Trevor responded to his grandmother, once when he was 13. He smirked to himself over his intelligence, much too proud of his regurgitation of this unoriginal, age-old thought. 

Trevor’s mind returned to predicting the branches’ growth. He took a seat under the trees’ shade and contemplated. He was deep in thought for a long moment before being approached by a tall, robbed figure. She spoke in his direction.

“I can hear your mind racing; I can feel it reaching into the abyss, grasping at unraveling strings-- no, strings that have yet to be spun.”

“What?” Trevor responded.

“You seek to hold a truth that has yet to be revealed, and I’ll provide an answer.” She pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them. 

“Oh no, you can’t be serious. Tarot cards? Really? You’re trying to sell me on some spirituality crap? I’m a man of science, I strive to produce objective, universal truths, not some Sabrina the Teenage Witch mumbo-jumbo.” 

“You speak with pompous hubris. To believe you could even comprehend an ‘objective, universal truth,’ let alone to produce one? All we could ever hope for is an obscured suggestion of the inevitable, a faint reflection. Your hypocrisy will be revealed.” She left him.

Trevor, still seated under in the shade, continued to bounce around his thoughts. There had to be some sort of equation that could foresee a branch’s future before its tree even germinated, complete with a theorem to prove it. And maybe-- just maybe-- if he studied these trees, he could be the one to predict their fate.

Trevor thought about what variables could be applied in the equation, factors that would affect how the branches grew. He tore a low-hanging twig that was within his reach and used it to inscribe a list of variables into the soil at the roots. Factors such as a branch’s DNA, origin, location, position, and exposure to wind, rain, deer, and birds were just the beginning of his ever-growing list. When one twig would erode into nothing, he’d just tear a new one out.

Bouncing around ideas in his head only brought him so far, and soon enough Trevor realized that his thought experiments were no longer enough. He had to prove his musings with empirical evidence. He reached higher above the twigs, at the thick boughs at the treetops. He tore them away as well, trying to get a closer look at each branch. He made notes on how each one bent and which direction it faced and how long it seemed to grow. And no matter how many he studied, there was always a new branch with a completely different set of factors and variables to be studied next. 

He tore the twigs and boughs off each of the trees until the shade overhead disintegrated into the light. As the sun began to shine through the disappearing treetops onto his head, Trevor slowly but surely realized the one truth that was being revealed to him: the trees were laughing at him.

The trees were laughing at him because his incessant efforts had led him to destroy the shade he had been enjoying. The trees were laughing at him because his obsession with each branch’s fate led him to tear them from the bark himself. The trees were laughing at him because they knew the best way to find out how something would grow and when it would stop was just to watch and see.