I am a tree. My home is an evergreen rainforest surrounded by the sea. My life started on a warm sunny day. I started in the wind; at least a part of me did. The seeds that were dispersed from my mother were my brothers and sisters, scattered everywhere. I watched them drop; some flew. We had spent so long together in that cone. When it was finally my turn to leave, I flew with the wind, my heart happy, oh how I loved to fly. The wind eventually caressed me down to a soft spot of dirt, a spot that I would remain for all my time in this life. I greeted Earth. I was alone for the first time, but Earth embraced me entirely, swallowing me up in her hummus. Earth smiled at me and sprinkled love all throughout my being, making me realize I was never alone.
When I first sprouted up, I was so excited. Earth had been warm and comforting, but I was ready to taste the air again, to meet the sun with arms outstretched. I looked around, and all around me were trees of all kinds. I couldn’t see very far, but they looked so big and grand. I even saw some of my brothers and sisters sprinkled in the Earth around me. I sent them a message urging them on.
Every day was something different. Every day brought either the sun or clouds, rain, or snow. Animals of all kinds and sizes. Four-legged ones that had sticks growing out of their heads, small ones that scurried around at my trunk, two-legged tall ones that sometimes wandered past. Some of the two-legged ones would put their hand on my bark, murmuring something I couldn’t understand. I liked it when they did this. I sent some of my hum of life into the animals when they did this, my way of reciprocating. With a trample of an animal or the snow that thundered down, I knew that it would be unlikely that I would make it. But whether I made it or not was out of my control, so I continued to exist.
It was impossible to feel lonely. The Earth held me so strongly, the adult trees urged me on with gentle encouragement, the sun shone on me, and the moon caressed me. I was whole. I was a part of it all, and it all was a part of me. And that’s all I needed to grow and grow. I grew so much; it didn’t seem fast or slow, but I could tell that with each day that passed, a certain soundness settled into me.
And then, when I was quite tall, the two-legged creatures came back, but this time, they brought loud-sounding things. Things that made my kin around me fall down so quickly. I didn’t understand. I felt little pieces in me snap when they fell. A piece of their hum entered me, along with the end of their existence.
The falling stopped, and in its place, the two-legged creatures made more noises with more things. And these sounds continued, and I can’t really remember if they ever stopped.
But I kept growing. What else was I to do? Around me now were objects and structures that I had not sensed before. The two-legged creatures were now always around me; there were so many of them and much less of my kind. Except they didn’t touch me anymore in the way they used to. They didn’t stop and look up at me. But that was okay. I would keep existing. As a tree, that is what you did. As I grew, I learned the names of those around me.
Then, a two-legged creature, whom I could now call a human, with long brown hair that reminded me of the Earth, walked past, and she placed her hand on me. I felt a hum from one of these humans for the first time in a long time. I sent one back. She closed her eyes and leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my trunk. She held me, and I held her. I watched her go, and an ache inside of me began. Don’t go, I wanted to say.
Except the most beautiful thing happened. She stayed. I would see her walk past me and into a structure that was her home, and then she would walk by me again and go out into the world. She would often touch me as she walked by.
And it wasn’t just her who walked by daily, but a tall, dark-haired man. He didn’t look at me as much, but he looked at her the way she looked at me. And in that, I tried my best to send him some waves of my hum.
I continued to grow. The weather got colder and hotter; the sun was there and then not. The Earth was still holding me. I had become one of the oldest trees in the area by now. Then one day, the woman approached me, pressed her stomach against me, and said something I couldn’t understand. I could feel what she was showing me. Life was there in her belly. This would be another little girl. Her little essence reminded me of one of the flying creatures that would land on my branches, the ones that chirped a lot and held those they loved close to their hearts.
And then, in the middle of winter, I watched the first little one go into the home that my branches stretched over. The woman came to me with the little child clutching her so tightly. She tried to put her child’s hand on me but could only manage a second of contact; I was ready and sent her all my hum in that little glimpse of time. The child was sleepy and curled back into her mother’s embrace, whimpering to go back inside to the familiarity and coziness of her home.
The second little one came fast. It was a day in early Spring when life was just starting to wake again; energy and light flowed everywhere. When the new mother came to me, this little one didn’t seem to want to stop touching me; it looked like she wanted to climb me all the way to the top. Her eyes were wide, and that awakening of life energy was humming from this little child just as it was humming from the Earth on this Spring day.
And then finally, the third one, the first boy. It was the beginning of fall, the end of summer, when the mother brought him to me. The cusp of freedom and duty. He was larger than his sisters had been, and the mother looked at me with tiredness that swelled deep in her eyes. This little one looked at me curiously and didn’t seem to want to touch me; instead, he placed his forehead on my trunk. I could feel his little eyelashes blink on my bark. He was a healer.
The home that had been there was torn down, and the new family started to build a new structure, a new home. As this new home was being built, I started to feel strange sensations. My remaining kin warned me they could sense something was off with me.
Watching this family became one of my greatest joys. The mother would come out and sit at my base for hours at a time. I tried to comfort her as best as I could when she was upset, but nothing seemed to help as much as I wanted it to. The tall man would usually come out after a while and lead her back to the house. On a sunny day, she would bring her three little children to sit under me. They all were so different, the children. The first and the third seemed to be best friends already; they both had dark hair like their parents. The middle child would often be alone, staring up at me, her hair like the colour of the strawberries that grew in the summer. I could tell the mom loved these three children more than anything else she had ever loved. But I don’t think that love was enough to make her happy. Tears would fall from her eyes. The father was often very busy; I could tell with his leaving and going so often. He would sometimes be gone for months, but he always returned.
As the three children grew, I began to feel worse. I could tell I was dying. My kin could now feel this, too. They sent me their inner hums, trying to heal me, but I knew it would do nothing; I was far past healing. To die as a tree is a long process that could span many other animals’ lifetimes. The knowledge that your death is near so far in advance is one only trees can have. Maybe we are given this knowledge because Earth knows that it would not change how we exist, that it would neither make us happy nor sad.
I watched them leave and enter the house every day. All five of them. It was a family full of so much love. I could feel that all my kin had also grown very attached. The family would spend entire days outside with us, touching us, tending to us. We tended to them in return. The red-haired child started to climb me as soon as she could. Sometimes, the other two followed her up. But this child would climb higher than even I thought was safe. I felt she wanted to keep climbing until she reached the clouds. One time, this red-haired child came to me with tears falling down her face, and she started to climb. I tried to urge her to slow down; it looked like she could barely see anything past her tears. Suddenly, she was so high, higher than she had ever been, and she was holding onto one of my branches that had died already. It snapped, and she fell. She fell so fast through the branches. I worked quickly, asking Earth to catch her, please catch her. This was not her time, not yet. Earth caught her; a large decomposed pile of leaves was waiting for her at the bottom, one that only left a bruise on her tailbone. The red-haired child sat in that pile, her eyes wide open, her mouth agape. Silently, she got up and brushed off the leaves on her coat. She hugged me and whispered something into my bark.
The oldest child suddenly stood beside me one day. I had not spent as much time with her, but she had a calm and genuine demeanour I admired over the years. I also noticed that she wasn’t so little anymore, and there was a suitcase beside her, and tears were in her eyes. She put her fist against my bark, but only briefly like she had done on her first days on the Earth. The other four were now beside her, holding her, and then she left. It made me think about watching my family fly off into the wind in my early days. I knew they had to go, but I still felt upset that the wind was carrying them away from me. The mother came to me a lot after that day.
The red-haired child climbed me on the day she left. She hadn’t climbed me for some time now. But today, she climbed and climbed, sat on a branch, closed her eyes, and rested her head against me. I could feel tears touch my bark and silent shaking. And then she climbed down and left. The mother cried and sought comfort from me again.
The youngest one left shortly after, too. I could tell he was ready to go. He was a quiet and caring soul. He said bye to me, putting his forehead against my trunk, taking a deep breath in.
Once he left, I could tell that something in the mother had shifted. She had worked hard for these children. Now that they were gone, she felt this void. Who had she been before her life had become devoted to this task? I felt lucky since there had never been a question as to what my purpose would be. I knew who I would be from the second I came into this world. Who I had been and who I would become would remain constant. And yet, I felt sadness in this as well. To be a human and have the possibility of choice, what a beautiful thing.
I didn’t want to be another existence that left her, but unfortunately, my time was ending. Earth told me a storm was coming, and I knew I would not be strong enough to endure it.
The mother was older now, too; we both were. I think she could sense my time was coming. My branches must have looked weak, my leaves gray. She held me a lot in my final days. Whispered things. The father even came to me two nights before the storm. And he put his open palm against my bark, and for the first time, I received his hum. I sent him some of mine back.
It was not a matter of saying goodbye to my kin and all the animals and plants. I was not sad, nor were they. I was old enough to know with life came death, and with death came life. My hum of life would enter those around me, and it would sit within them until it was their turn to carry their hums to the others. That is how we exist forever; what one gives another is a mix of what others gave it. That is why, when it comes down to it, we are all complete beings, made up of all the life and love that has ever been.
Through this existence of mine, I have existed as nothing other than a creature of the Earth; all the others are creatures of the Earth; if only they knew that. How much less lonely it makes everything with that knowledge. A part of me wishes I could speak in a language that the woman who gave me so much could understand. Or perhaps the language we held between us had been enough, more than enough. The gifts she gave me held me here as strong as Earth held me. The father, with his dark hair that has turned gray and his firm gentleness. The oldest daughter with her gift of titanium fragility and care. The middle child, with her rooted energy and graceful ambition. The youngest boy, with his ability to love so deeply and truthfully. The birds that rested on my branches and made homes for their young, the four-legged creatures, the smallest bugs to the burliest bears. All the beings that had been here with me, even if it was only for a moment, now swirl and swoop in the breeze that embraces me fully. I inhale and exhale all the tiny to big brushes and strokes of life I call love.
She comes to me that night when the wind is picking up, and I am slowing down. Her hair is still chocolate brown, but her bones have weakened. She places her hands on me, then her forehead. I can feel her tears. I know she is thanking me. Saying bye. The wind is getting louder, but why does everything feel so quiet? It’s so quiet except… Except for a sliver of a hum. I can feel it vibrating throughout my being. My kin send their last messages. The woman stands there, her hair flying wildly in the wind, her forehead still pressed to my trunk, her arms holding me. It is this moment. It has always been this moment.