By The Roots - 200 words

Do you remember that tree on the cliffside? The one just a short walk from your home. It was a desperately proud tree, reigning over the barren cliffs without a single other tree competing for attention.
You could see its roots, thrusting deep, far into the rocks. Such a strong hold. Unshakeable, I remember thinking to myself, despite the jarring angle at which it stood. The way it gazed out over the silver crested waves, keeping watch, calmed me immensely.
I remember coming back a few years later. Still it stood to attention, the bows drooping ever so slightly, but resolute in its strength. The salty wind whipped at its leaves, battered its gnarled trunk, but still it held firm. It was like it knew it had to remain, had to be the symbol of immutable strength, if only for me.
Years on I came back. I stood and stared at the cliff, the empty, desolate cliffs. The remorseful wind stealing the tears from my eyes, leaving me my silent grief. My immoveable companion gone, sent crashing to its watery, transient grave. The roots had been torn up, ripped out.
Just as mine were, when you passed.
I miss you.