From the perspective of a tree:

    At the very start of my life I was happy-- level with my surroundings, taken care of by the rain, but also very delicate in the first few years of my life. I could observe the vast plains surrounding me. Empty, bare, and beautiful. The air was clean and my only fear was the occasionally temperamental weather.

As I grew and my branches extended, the space around me became smaller. However, it wasn't because I was growing, but because of the world transforming beneath me. I can now see houses being built nearby, a small factory to my left billowing dark colored smoke and the taste of pollution running through my veins. My lungs are working harder and harder to breathe with every rise of the sun and I'm starting to feel as if the ground in which my roots relied on for nutrients is now feeding me toxins. As I patiently wait for the slightest breeze of fresh air, I begin to feel the earth shake beneath my branches. Men with shovels start digging away my familiar and loved surroundings. The flowers, the grass, and the tiny ant hill that has been with me since the last rainfall have all been destroyed. I as I stand there in agony, I suddenly feel a stab to my heart when an ax cuts right through me to make way for a new road.