The Tree at the End of Time

Noah was just letting the boat drift with the current when he saw the tree. Then he maneuvered them into the little cove for a closer look.

"Whoa. That's the tree at the end of time, dawg!"

"Mr. Moove," said Noah, "You are talking a lot. And loudly. I think you are very high. But in this case, I also think you are right."

"'Mr. Moove'. I like that. We bein' friends now, you could call me Bustah. But I dig the respect. Like I dig this tree. Like, out here on the deep blue sea, I feel like I dig everything."

"That tree is magic," said Noah. "That tree puts my mind on hold."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what it is. You got the words, man. Can I use those words?"

"You want to make a song?"

"Thass what I do."

Noah contemplated the tree. It was white, so white it seemed to radiate a thing that came at him and entered his heart. He wondered if Bustah Moove felt it too. A notice had been posted in his heart that time was at an end. He felt a great relief. He wondered if this was how it felt to be high.

"Yes, you can use my words," he said.

"I won't do it now," said Bustah Moove.

"I understand."

And then Bustah Moove fell strangely silent. He felt stunned by this world at the edge of the world. His thoughts had all gone to roost in the radiant uprooted white tree.

"You don't need to get high," Bustah Moove said to Noah, when appreciation rose in him as words. "You high already."

Noah made small corrections with the wheel and their propulsion so they would more or less stay in place. When they finally left, he determined he would come back again for more radiation from the timeless tree. Also, in his own independent and wandering way, he determined he would offer to let this strange and famous and secretly heartbroken man come too, because it seemed to do him good.

23 March 2026
Texas Jim
Rogues Roost, Nova Scotia