There was once a mad tree who fought against the wind. It was a tired looking tree who was once beautiful and strong. Now it was tall but dishevelled, thin and spindly.
Whichever way the wind blew, it was always determined to lea against it, in the opposite direction
It would look around at the other trees swaying in the wind, letting themselves be blown this way and that, strong thick trees with bright green leaves that moved together as one.
“Weaklings,” muttered the mad tree.
Some trees remained for a long time. Others got blown over by the very strong winds, but none of them suffered. Only the mad tree suffered, because he always pushed back against the wind.
“What is this wind, always imposing itself on me? It might blow me over, or blow me away. I will never let it have its way.” And soon the mad tree became even weaker, and it became ill and diseased.
It became old and decrepit and tired, until it didn’t have the energy to oppose the wind anymore. Then the wind had its way, and the tree fell over and hit the ground, and it went to sleep, and it finally had a rest.