My life started on a warm sunny day. I remember flying in the wind, and how I loved it! How light I felt. How free. The taste of the air. Like cherry blossom petals and dewy grass. My brothers and sisters flew around me. I watched as they were carried off in different directions, further and further away from me. It felt like I was watching pieces of me leave. Pieces I’d never see again. A deep ache began suddenly somewhere inside me. But I couldn’t tell what it was. I was still too young to understand.
Eventually, the wind 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 hesitantly at first, but she embraced me entirely, swallowing me up in her hummus and welcoming me home.
It didn’t take me long to sprout through the Earth and into the world. I was overjoyed. Earth had been warm and comforting, but I was ready to taste the air again, to meet the sun with arms outstretched. And oh how the sun tasted! Unlike anything I’d ever experienced! I couldn’t get enough of the delicious golden light. And the more I drank, the faster I grew. And as I grew, I began to know my kin scattered around me. They stood there, all different kinds, and so tall and grand. I wanted so badly to be like them. I even saw some of my brothers and sisters sprinkled in the Earth around me. I sent them messages urging them on. But we all knew, deep inside, that only one of us, or maybe none, would make it all the way. It was a sad thought. But it was the way it was, the way it had to be.
Every day brought something different. The sun or clouds, rain, or snow. Beings of all kinds and sizes. Four-legged ones that had sticks growing out of their heads, small ones with long tails that scurried around at my trunk, tiny striped ones that flew, two-legged tall ones that wandered past. These beings all had different ways of existing. And the more I grew, the more I could notice and see. Standing in one place for an entire life gave me this—an unhurried and deeply etched existence.
The two-legged ones sometimes touched my bark, remaining there for more than a moment, murmuring something I couldn’t understand. But I could feel them. I could hear them. I could see them. And when they touched me, saw me, heard me, I would send my hum to them. My hum of life. The one that runs through us all.
It was impossible to feel lonely. The Earth held me so strongly, my kin urged me on with gentle encouragement, the sun fed 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 when I would get sad about who had left, my kin reminded me that they were not gone. I did not understand. They told me I would.
Time passed. Life remained. I grew towards the sun and throughout the ground. Reaching more and more until one day, the two-legged ones came, but they brought things with them I did not know. Things I did not understand because I could not feel them. Like the way I could feel all living beings. And these things were so very loud. Things that made my kin around me fall down. Too quickly. I didn’t understand. Little pieces, too many pieces, snapped within me when they fell.
The falling eventually stopped, and in its place, the two-legged creatures came with more noises with more things. And these sounds continued, and I can’t remember if they ever stopped. But I kept growing. And learning names. Ones that had been passed on from my kin. Especially ones about the two-legged creatures. They interested me now the most.
Around me now were objects and structures that I could not make sense of. The two-legged creatures were 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. And because of this, I could not give them any of my hum. I began to feel less and less of them, and in turn they began to feel less and less of me. I began to feel lonely for the first time, a feeling not usual for our kind.
One day, a two-legged creature with long brown hair that reminded me of the Earth stopped beside me and placed her hand on me. She was sending her hum! I sent one back. She smiled, closed her eyes, and leaned into me, wrapping her arms around me. Eventually, she walked away, and the ache inside of me grew. Don’t go. Please don’t go.
And she didn’t! She stayed. Every day, she would walk past me. It ended up that her home stood right beside me. And it wasn’t just her who walked by, but a tall, dark-haired one. Not Earth-coloured. It was darker, like the night sky. They would often be together.
I continued to grow. As far as I could see, I had become one of the oldest of my kind. The weather continued to cycle on, the sun continued to shine down, the creatures I had come to care for remained beside me. Then, one day, the brown-haired creature approached me, pressed her stomach against me, and said something I couldn’t understand. But I could feel what she was showing me. Life was there in her centre. A new life! I could already feel the little one’s strong essence. One that reminded me of the flying creatures that would land on my branches, the ones that chirped so beautifully and held those they loved above anything else.
And then, in the middle of winter, she came to me with the new little one clutching her so tightly. The beautiful brown-haired creature, now a mother, tried to place the little one’s hand on me. Her tiny clenched fist touched me for a moment and then curled back into the mother. The mother looked up at me and touched her lips to my bark.
The second little one came fast afterwards. It was a day in early spring when life was just starting to wake again; energy and light flowed everywhere. When the mother came to me, this 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. An awakening energy resided inside this one. The same energy that was flowing throughout all life on this spring day.
And then finally, the third and final one, the boy. It was the beginning off 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 thoughtfully, he didn’t touch me; instead, he leaned forward and placed his forehead on my trunk. I could feel his little eyelashes blinking.
Watching this family of creatures became one of my greatest joys. The mother would sit beside me for hours at a time. With her children, but also without. The father made swings for the children that hung from my branches and a rocking chair for the mother to sit under me. It was a family full of so much love. I could feel that my kin had also grown very attached. The family spent entire days outside with us, touching us, talking to us, sitting beside us. We loved them in return. Keeping them safe in the ways we knew how to.
They all were so different. The children. The first and last born had earth-coloured hair like their mother, while the middle child had ringlets of golden hair that reminded me of the deep set of the sun. The first-born spent hours making daisy flower necklaces for everyone, often placing a bundle of the leftover flowers at my trunk. The youngest was not often without his mother. His hands tangled in her hair or dancing in circles around her legs or me, smiling, always smiling. The middle child started to climb me as soon as she could. Sometimes, the other two followed her up, but often, she would climb too fast, and too high, and sit alone in my branches for hours.
As the three children continued to grow, something began to feel off within me. It soon became apparent that I was dying. My kin could feel this, too. They sent me their hums; special ones reserved for healing. But I knew it would do nothing; I was far past healing.
One day, the oldest child suddenly stood beside me. She was no longer a child. And she stood there with tears in her eyes. She put her fist against my bark, but only briefly, like she had done 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 felt that familiar ache.
The golden-haired child climbed me on the day she left, something she hadn’t done for some time. But today, she climbed and climbed, higher and higher. She sat on a branch and wrapped her arms around me. I could feel tears touch my bark and silent shaking. She climbed down and left.
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 and taking a deep breath. In the hum that passed between us, I received a clear message: “Take care of her.”
Once all the children had left, the mother came to me. A new ache now lay deep in her chest. She wept and wept. Letting her tears fall freely. But as the days passed, the crying stopped. Only the ache remained.
I didn’t want to leave; I loved this life. But, 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. She could sense my time was coming. My branches must have looked weak, my leaves gray. She stayed with me constantly in my final days. Whispered things. Sang songs. The father would often be there as well, looking at me longer than usual.
It was not a matter of saying goodbye to my kin and 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 the ache inside us! That is the hum! They are one and the same! It is how we exist forever! It is why we exist! We are all complete beings, made up of all the love, hurt and life that has ever been. How tragic. How beautiful.
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 the Earth protected me or the sun fed me. The father, with his firm gentleness. The oldest daughter with her gift of fragility and care. The middle child, with her sunlit energy and ambition. The youngest boy, with his ability to love so deeply and truthfully. The birds that rested on my branches, the deer that grazed at my trunk, the bees overtop of me, the fungi underneath me. 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 can now call love. Through this existence of mine, I have been a creature of the Earth. We are all creatures of the Earth. I wish more of them could see it.
…
She comes to me the 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. If only I could tell her that I’m not going anywhere.
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. 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