A tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it. As it lands, it at once makes a deafening roar, at least were there anyone around to deafen, and at the same time is defiantly silent. It was a very old tree, and never once did it falter against the elements. Yet here the titan lay, its limbs broken and bent, its massive trunk cloven halfway through about a third of the way up its mighty stature. Its life blood lay pooled near the gaping wound. Its spine and its spirit eternally broken.

It fought valiantly against the treacherous winds, as it always had, standing steadfast and strong, but unbeknownst to the giant, its resolve had been weakened by a group of parasites that had burrowed themselves into its base. Their sweet prosperity had turned the mighty giant's sour. As the wind pounded the unyielding defender, a horrible and resounding creak shrieked out, and the tree's body began to splinter and shatter. The horrible wail gave way to a sort of resigned sigh, as its weight slowly shuddered forward, until a thunderous crack rang out, followed by the terrible and soundless thud as the great tree slammed against the cold, harsh ground.

The tree had never believed in anything, never been a part of anything, had never felt anything, or cared for anything. It was, after all, a tree, and had no aspirations whatsoever. But as it lay there, helpless and dying, you could swear the tree was feeling a deep sadness. At least, if anyone had been there, they could have.

A few weeks later, a hiker spotted the fallen tree and notified the park ranger. It was cut into pieces and hauled off to wherever it is that dead trees go. Its stump was also cut up and shipped off, for it was full of bugs, and the parks service didn't want it infesting the other trees. Now there is nothing there, no marker or monument to a tree that, while completely unremarkable, did as much good as a tree can possibly do.

A tree fell in the forest, and no one was there to hear it.

And that's about it, actually.