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The sun shone down on a small sapling. Its almost green leaves sprouted from emerging branches. There was something different about the tree, something special. And it had nothing to do with Demeter. This tree had a life, a heart of its own. It spent its idle days watching as men grew as their greed did. One day a man sat by the sapling staring at its leaves intensely. Soft whispers escaped his lips as he kept formulating ideas in his mind. The tree soon learned this man’s name was Leucippus. Leucippus spent his days and nights scribbling in a leatherbound journal. The tree was his only company as he figured out an idea no man could ever speculate; particles.

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The tree watched as another followed Leucippus. His name was Democritus, the two would spend hours speaking in riddles and solving questions no man had asked before. “Teacher, the particles, they are uncuttable and finite like you say, but what if they are never still. I wonder..” the young student said as he plucked a leaf from the tree. “Look at this leaf, the particles that make it are forever moving and changing, this is what we see in our world.” Democritus said, feeling as if he just hit the tip of the iceberg. The two spent their time writing their theories and thoughts on parchment, never able to prove them existent until a later time when man became more innovative and believing.

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Time had passed and the tree had seen so many wonders and so much horror. Its trunk was thick as one of an ox, its canopy shading any person willing to keep it company. The sun kept rising and setting as it always had. The people grew more and more. Their once miniscule towns became those of large cities that traded and imported with other cities and countries. Yet, the tree felt stagnant, it could not move nor visit any new place the wind whispers to it about. Until a man with round shaped glasses and a funny looking coat came up. A look of determination struck his features as he grabbed something from his satchel. The metal glinted in the sun as he grafted a branch from the tree. Golden sap poured out from the cut branch. The tree felt betrayed by human kind, afterall if they offered them shade and a place to rest. The branch still carried the life the tree was gifted.

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Smog filled the air, loud air horns and moving vehicles filled the streets. The tree had been carried from a floating contraption in water to a loud steaming machine. Its captor kept writing vehemently in his journal. The word “postulates” struck out on the tree. For it had never heard of such a thing. The page was covered in rules and finalities. The ones the tree could understand were “All matter is composed of indivisible particles that cannot be created or destroyed.” .“Atoms of the same element are identical, but atoms of different elements have different properties.” “Atoms group together in whole number ratios to form Compounds.” and “Chemical reactions are the result of the rearrangement of atoms.” The tree felt intrigued by what its captor was writing.

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Months passed since the tree had been grafted and replanted in a ceramic pot. Its new home was in a stuffy apartment with a window view of the smelly streets below. The tree’s captor kept reciting words over words about his evidence and theories. He was a smart man, but he thought he lacked the evidence to prove his point. “..smallest  unit of matter is an indivisible particle. ..called atoms are present in a fixed number in our flourishing universe, my friends and esteemed colleagues, they cannot be created nor destroyed…” Dalton recited from memory, he discarded his notecards to his coat pocket. He continued on with his lecture. “I have completed many experiments where chemical compounds are made up of two or more different elements. There are different elements, many have the same atoms, but are different. Atomic mass will always be different for every element. This is where I get to my theory. Any compound, the same weight ratio of the elements will always be present. This leads me to believe the fixed weight ratios of elements in a compound result from the fixed ratios of atoms of those elements. The two are tied together.” he recited, excitement bubbling in his chest.

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The tree got passed on to scientist after scientist until it stayed in a man’s home. His home was full of books full of knowledge scattered everywhere. Papers full of complex equations and notes covered the hardwood floors. There was barely any light. The tree missed its home and wished for sunlight. The man was up at odd hours fiddling with pieces of thin metal and glass. The tree heard the man point to the top side of the cylindrical contraption stating it was positive while the underside was negative. A wire ran through the two ends. The tree felt confused by all of it. It only wished for real sunlight, not a lamp over its once vibrant green leaves. He heard the man on the telephone. “I call it the cathode ray, it demonstrates cathode rays composed of negatively charged particles much smaller than atoms. I believe they represent part of an atom, I speculate it looks like plum pudding. Which negatively charged particles are embossed in the sphere of a positive charge. It's a peculiar analogy but think of the raisins embedded in the plum pudding.” he continued, mulling around as best he could with the telephone keeping him in one spot.