When the Trees Walked
photo source: flickr.com
“Please, come back. We will take good care of you. We always have..,” I am pleading to the sprawling Mahogany tree that had walked away from our plot. Now, it is standing about 5 kilometres from our place.
Wait; did I forget to tell you I live on a planet where trees walk? Yes, that is true.
The Mahogany tree is not listening to me. He just stands there waving his branches in defiance. It is quite understandable that he is angry. One of his strong branches was cut off and taken away by a thief in the night and now he thinks we did not take good care of him.
“You are not supposed to be illogical like us, humans,” I try to reason with him, “we had this fence built around our farm more to protect you people than us.”
I think he understands. His leaves, which were perking up till then, drooped a little.
Of course, you might have understood by now that they do not speak. Yet I am sure they can understand our language. They just seem hard on hearing, and a few bricks short of a load. Do not misinterpret my words when I say that; because they are lovely. And when they sleep at night, they cannot walk or use their senses.
Jumping back to this tiny argument I was engaging in with this Mahogany tree, I feel sorry for him. The attack might have frightened him and now he is hiding his fear and pretending defiance and anger. Trees do not get angry, you know. Mostly, we project our emotions onto them, but I still think he is a bit traumatised by yesterday’s events.
I sit beneath his shade as it is getting hot. He moves away and exposes me to the harsh sunlight. “Now, come on, don’t be mean,” I retort. I once again move to his shade but this time he stands still. Oh, what a cool canopy he has. One moves an inch inside and the world is a far better place to live!
A passel of sparrows crossed the sky singing, and some of them ranting out loud. In every group of people, you find the rebels, the angry ones, and the oddly dissatisfied morons. My friend, the Mahogany here, is nothing like that. He is a cheerful guy, with dark green leaves, about to sway to the slightest winds, and he has almost symmetrical branches that give him a handsome demeanour. Yet, I find myself at a loss about how to take my friend back to my courtyard.
I try to push him in the direction towards our village but he does not move. I plead with him to no use. “Do whatever you want, I am going back,” now I am shouting at him.
I secretly wished that he would follow me. Without him, our courtyard will look like a wasteland. Even his fallen dry leaves are cosy to walk on.
I look back after walking a few steps. He has twisted his trunk in the opposite direction but the canopy is slightly bent towards me. I am sure he is glancing at me to see what I will do next. He wants me to plead and placate. I feel sorry for him. After all, he lost one of his perfect branches.
“Come on, now. The sun is almost above us. I have work to do at home. Look, if you come home with me, I shall hook some paper lanterns to your branches tonight and you will look gorgeous in them. I can also play the guitar for you then; your favourite songs”
Now I hear someone humming a tune I often play to him; a song that always seemed to melt his heart. Surprised, I look into the lush leaves on his crown and find a gorgeous yellow bird singing, half-hidden among the leaves.
“Good that you have made a friend. When did she come to nest on you? I haven’t seen something like her for years!” I say. He begins to walk towards me and his roots sway and stamp the earth with the song's beats. I smile, “he is such a big guy!”
I turn and walk home knowing he will follow me now. Certainly, you, the readers, are waiting; for me to tell you, at some point in this story that I woke up from a dream. Sorry to disappoint you but I really live in a time when trees walk.
It is difficult though to keep them anchored in our plot, or any plot because the earth is hotter than it used to be; every other day, there is a hailstorm breaking their branches and even killing them randomly, and all this carbon dioxide in the air is proving to be unhealthy for even these gentle giants who thrive on CO2. We share the water we have left, with them in the scorching summers. No sooner than the drought ends, a flood rushes in, and the muddy cesspools rot their roots.
Did I mention that it is difficult to protect them from the thieves, who are just desperate souls in these desperate times? Tree branches are a precious commodity.
Welcome to my world; where the Earth is too hot, and the trees walk away, leaving you hung out to dry, literally.
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