The Soul of a Tree

I ached. My branches creaked like the old bones of a buck. Had many come and go. Some never return. A loss of the tiniest bird makes my heartwood ache and my sap overflow. I still hold delicate bones inside my hollow stomach from whence they lived.

I have housed generations. Their offspring were entrusted to me whilst food was hunted. I am their protection from whistling winds and booming skies. My leaves, or what some call hair, fur, and feathers, tousled about in heavy storms. My hair would comb to one side when the rain poured and trickled off each weighted leaf.

Squirrel

“Mother's back at it!” A resident bellows with carefree joy due to the roundness that is his cheeks. I hummed a low sigh of agreement as the squirrel scurried up my orange, grainy bark. “She makes it difficult to find these here foods—!" He said with pursed lips as to not drop his inventory.

“But I hit the jackpot down below. A tall, pale thing tossed some to me. It had no hair! Save for its head.”

The squirrel continued skittering up and down my trunk, with seemingly no direction.

“Strange creature, that! But it feeds me!” He exclaimed before vanishing. I could feel him stashing his findings high up in my hair.

Sister

CLICK

My leaves rustle with joy.

Oh! Hello, dear.

I swayed my body with the quiet wind, slow creaking breaths through the forest as I relaxed into my soil.

How I have missed your voice! Are things well over there?

Sycamore’s breeze enveloped me. A soft, cradling hum.

Oh, yes. We are fine here. Although the termites have been getting a bit loud, we shall manage.

I groaned with the wind, letting it carry an embrace to Sycamore.

My sister was oh so special to me. T'was a shame Mother didn’t plant us closer together.

How will I go on if I'm in my peaceful picture book and she becomes paper?

I may just rot.

Bear

Oh dear, here comes the bear. He’s so large and heavy. He always chooses my flimsiest branch! And the way his claws dig into my grain, well, it just leaves me all scratched up!

There he goes..

With a loud sigh, my attempt to adjust to his weight on one of my farthest & weakest arms seemed futile. I swayed in annoyance, letting my trunk echo a click in hopes he may get the hint. What with my leaves swooshing and flicking around his grizzly fur.

How does he not notice the weakening underneath him? My branch will fall off at some point.

Oh, what a day that shall be!

To have this big, poor ol' bear tumble down a Redwood.

A tragedy I wish not to experience.

Ants

The tickle of life between my roots always endeared me. Aside from the hum of Mother’s core, this was one of my favorite nightly sounds to fall asleep to. I admired how late into the night ants worked, shoveled, and hunted. Never leaving a troop behind.

I heard all their little voices mumbling up my roots and into my grain. They plotted and planned. Where to gather more. Ways to improve their architecture around my rooting. Best tactics to protect the Queen, who sounded quite lovely.

They made me giggle. I was pleased to take part in their blueprint, even if they found it difficult to build between my roots.

Bones

Deeper than all the ants, worms, moles, and snakes, there lived a quiet folk. They only offered me an occasional whisper. Many were languages I’d never heard before. When they let themselves be heard, I made sure to listen closely.

One night I had focused well enough to hear someone’s name. Balatra. Threads of electricity climbed between my grain as the whispered name filled the thick, night air.

Balatra?

I called deep down below. My tiniest of roots stretching as far as they’d go, desperately grasping for the attention of this mysterious name.

A small whimper.

Someone's crying.

Heavy sighs follow.

It is I..

A breathy voice responded.

My leaves whip in excitement, branches quivering.

Balatra? Who are you? Why are you so far down?

I kept as much calm in my voice as I could manage, for the thrill rapidly rose.

As one can imagine, the life of a tree can become quite boring after hundreds of years. One's senses may grow quiet, even numb at times. With it all being the same, after so long, you seek enrichment.

Balatra was that enrichment.

Nothing so mysteriously thrilling had ever happened in my woods. I sensed in the air and underground something strange was afoot.

Geese

A distant cackling approaches in the masses, slowly forming above me like a cloud. Tiny little avian shadows sparkling across my leaves, bending over grass mounds.

I overheard their loud and varied conversations that sprinkled the sky.

"It's been a long one! But once we land, there will be a festival waiting for our arrival!” squawked one goose.

“Will we ever return to Jadetown, Mama?” On the other side of the arrow-shaped flock, a small goose asked her mother.

The eldest goose, who led the V front and center, wore a little utility belt with various dangling tactical strings, a few small flasks, and a porcupine needle.

“Folks, we will make a sharp turn just a minute ahead. Notify all the way to the back.”

He sounded rather militant, but from past flights, I observed the deep care he took in piloting his flock safely.

Sun

Ah, my dear old friend. Your rays soak me in an ever-mighty embrace; the thirst you endlessly quench. Oh, how many laughs and cries we’ve shared.

The weight to wake up each day for the world to be able to see, to feed so many of us, must be terribly heavy. That is why I am your friend, Sun. And that is why you are mine. I too must wake every day to provide shelter for many and produce oxygen for more.

I love my skill set.

Don’t get me wrong, friend.

But as you are aware...

'Tis a thankless job.

Moon

Oh lovely Lady Moon. How her crescent shimmer cradles me in her blanket of multiverses and stars.

A lullaby hummed from the ebbs and flows of the sea.

Specks of moon dust wait at the shoreline to guide me through her garden of dreams.

A quiet rumble lives beneath you, Redwood.

You have spoken to her.

Balatra.

She will soon walk among us again. Await her footsteps and invite her to drink of your sap and slumber upon your branch.

A time will come when you both shall return to me.

Tender and muffled water babbles, but only sonically.

Lady Moon’s glowing hand slowly extended towards me, fingertips outstretched to caress the grain of my bark.

Rain

Doused in the tears of the sky. I hear it’s weeping. Droplets worm down and in between my grain like blood traveling through veins.

My residents huddle under my hair and tuck themselves into various hollows of my trunk, which for them, acted as little caves.

I beamed with pride. They found their safety with me.

The sky's tears quenched a different kind of thirst than my friend Sun.

A chilled replenishment that rinsed away all the badness inside and out.

Drought

How arid the breeze became. Hollow with no refreshment. Residents sat in silent, motionless panic. Energy must be conserved for the resources that scarcely came.

A thirsty tree makes for a clotted trunk and a hungry forest. I suppose the sky hasn't been sad lately, and that makes me glad.

But we really need it to cry.

My roots shriveled. Soil roughened. Bark creased. I felt my branches droop with a certain weakness I haven't felt in a very long time.

Oh, what I would do for even just one droplet.

Rot

The buzzing flies surrounded the flying buzzards. Pink, exposed flesh who lay down days ago. Such tepidness makes them potent, especially as these spring days grow warmer.

Many travel past, giving a sympathetic glance, hoping it won't be them anytime soon.

Some make pit stops, a road trip snack to fill their putrid and growling bellies.

Eventually, only bones remained. The Howlers gathered in a full pack and left little evidence of anything ever being present. All that was left may have been a tuft of fur clinging to the thorn of an old, crinkled leaf of mine.

My purpose will also be fulfilled one day, and I shall become blackened with rot & decay. My residents will one day be forced to find a new home. And I will miss them terribly.

But seeds travel far and wide.

So I will always be near.

FIN.