You think a color can’t save you. It’s just a shade of bright green that sounds like a bad idea for a baby name. Chartreuse. Maybe Chartreuse was the little sister of Chivas, that guy you went to school with. Was it Shakespeare or that ridiculous class where you were the only one who read every page of Gravity’s Rainbow? The class where you always sat next to Tall Ethan who always had a smile for you. You’re thinking of how welcome that smile was and what ever happened to that guy when suddenly you realize how far you’ve fallen into that bright green unfurling. So far in it’s coloring your veins the same electric shade. You feel the pulse of it. And then you walk home, alive again.
Trees I talk to:
This tree’s hard to talk to, growing, as they do, half way up an embankment. There’s no offering a gesture of trust unless that gesture is pausing beside them at the edge of the trail. Even still, they pull away, shy of any compliments and more interested in gathering their share of light from under the canopy of evergreens. You tell them their new leaves look nice. Leave it at that for today and move on.
Trees I listen to:
These guys are inseparable. You and me against the world they whisper to each other the way they have for years. But now they laugh a little nervously. It was hyperbole, a metaphor! We didn’t mean it! Please!
Trees I rely on:
I am powered mostly by blossoms and baby leaves right now. Each day, some new bit of soft color arrives and tells me time has passed.
There’s always been enough time to watch ants but only if watching ants was important enough. Now we get to remember: watching ants is always important enough.
Trees that lecture me:
This tree told me their age before I even asked. Told me to remember that my greatest of great grandmothers was a measly two seconds old on a twelve hour clock of this world. So by the clock on my wall, a few months of tumult will bring the end of some things, but not most. Just stay at home, the tree grumbled. Look at me, it’s not that hard.
The burn flakes off leaving lines of bright.
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