FLOCK OF BIRDS

“You cannot control the world with just one mind,” she reasoned.

“Well, of course not.  That’s why many, many, many minds are employed,” he said, proudly, “to work together.”
 He thought that would be the end of her probing, but She Continued. 

“Yes—all of you for the same thought, all of you for one mind.  You’re like a flock of birds locked together, chasing after the same exact thing—no one choosing to go alone, or think alone—a singular unit, like a line of dominoes.  If one falls, you all fall.”

He had been shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying not to listen to her; but her flow of words stole his curiosity.  His extreme self confidence faded to gray suddenly, and he refused to meet her gaze.

She was well aware of her affect upon him—as she was of superior intelligence.  He, too, was aware, and it made him feel ashamed—and then angry.

The Woman sensed his mood swing coming long before their conversation had materialized.  Years before, she’d always watched him—as everyone did—for he had managed, with his “many, many, many minds”, to seat himself in the elected chair. 

He was the Fool—the Tour Guide—in front of his flock. 

She was the Tree rooted calmly, waiting for the birds to land. And wait she would—although she expected them to fall out of the sky—exhausted and lost—before they realized they’d missed the tree.

She would not laugh at them, nor despise their destructive decisions.  She would simply fling flowers into the atmosphere to throw color onto the land, and reseed herself to become a forest.
Their need to dominate and destroy would never kill their need for flowers and trees, earth and seed, and she knew it. 

In time, they would fall by their own actions.  Their minds and bodies would collapse under the weight of this burden—this absurd denial of Mother Nature. 
For no human being can live removed from nature—stripped from the Garden, where love and life begin.