So, I have started talking to the trees.
Fiction-ish: When the birds have taken you as far as they could
I told them I was done being a bird,
flying here and there, wherever the wind blew.
The birds had taught me a lot and I wasn’t complaining, just ready for something new and my wings were tired too.
And my feet restless for solid grounding. Rooting and stillness.
I looked at the crowd of them, together perhaps since they were little, now big and towering the sky, dancing softly. I told them I had been moving since I was small and not just with my branches but all my roots or as many of them I could save during each uprooting.
I had traveled far and wide, knowing only change, becoming fluent in adaptability.
I had moved for all the reasons one can think to move:
for necessity, for hope, for a better life, for more opportunity,
for joy, for education, just because, for the sun, for love, for responsibility.
I knew nothing if not how to pack a suitcase or a backpack
and get on a train, a bus, a plane, a car - though not yet a boat.
I paused in my telling, hoping to leave space
for questions, for acknowledgment,
or just a sense of what they might make of all that moving,
them, such rooted beings.
But, in true fashion, they remained tall, big, steady,
swaying only with the wind.
So I kept going.
I told them about all the places I had seen,
the people I had met, and who had met me.
All the places I had left and people who had left me,
the beds I had slept in,
the windows I had looked through,
the streets I had claimed for their quietness in busy cities.
I told them that everywhere I went,
I only felt truly at home when they were around.
And so I told them about all their kinds I had met
Starting with the mango trees in my grandma’s garden in Uganda,
the towering ficus trees of Brazil.
I had seen so many trees I could almost guess the climate of a place
by the trees that grew there.
I knew I was making small talk with them.
But I guess I wanted to build some kinship with them a little,
like how people are so eager to tell me they’ve been to Africa
when they meet me,
and how warm, nice, and hospitable these and those African people are.
I knew what I was doing.
Still, I kept going.
I told them about the different fruits I’d eaten from trees around the world,
about the ones that gave great shade,
or made for good privacy borders,
or smelled so good your whole body felt cleansed
just breathing them in.
I was just about to get to my favorite tree flowers,
the magnolias, the cherry blossoms,
When finally, I stopped myself.
My neck was starting to ache from looking up at them.
But who was I kidding, who even knows where a tree’s head or ears are?
Maybe I had been talking to their arms this whole time,
and their ears and eyes were somewhere else altogether.
So I stopped blabbering.
Recognizing I was tired, I sat down and leaned myself
against the trunk of one of the larger trees.
I stayed still and noticed again the birdsong that had gone quiet during my yapping, I noticed how soft the warm air felt on my skin.
After a while, I forgot I was waiting for an answer,
or seeking guidance,
as I watched the sun rays shift across the ground
with the movement of the leaves above.
Mesmerized.
Just as I had fully forgotten why I was even there,
one of them reached down
and grazed my face gently with his big, teardrop-shaped leaf.
And I instantly understood.
“I see…” I said,
and thanked them for their kind and gracious advice.
