I Forgive you
The weight of the obelisk was a constant pressure on her roots. In some places, they even had to re-route. But she was flexible. The obelisk never seemed to notice. It sat in stony silence, except on Sundays and sometimes Wednesday evenings. If it knew or cared that its presence weighed on her so, it never let on.
She was sorry for the obelisk. So rigid, so sameness of same. It couldn't move, couldn't flow with the natural order of seasonal things. It simply...sat.
Finally, after yet another failed attempt to strike up an autumn day, puffy cloud conversation, she brushed oh-so-gently against the obelisk's brusk, cobbled shell... and whispered "I forgive you."