If Trees could talk.

If Trees could Talk

I like fruit trees, I like trees in general, they’re pretty for one, especially in spring and summer, through even in fall and winter they have an amazing visual appeal, slowly leaves die, lose that ripe green colour they have mustered all through the seasons of life, fading into a palette of reds and yellows and oranges and finally brown. The final curtain descending on the growth of life for the year, saying goodbye as winter sets in, they become leafless, piles of dead plant matter scatter throughout the land, clogging drains and gathering in piles along the sides of roads for me to wade and kick my way through, because I love that sloshing leaf sound, reminding us all of death, Autumn is the Season of decay, yet I love it so. The trees themselves live on, enduring the cold, spindle branches playing with the light as you drive or walk beneath their canopies, I like that flicking of light through trees as you move under them, looking upwards, simple wholesome appreciation.

I’m looking out my window at the apple tree in the back garden, already, thanks to the voluminous amounts of sun we’ve received in the last few weeks here in Ireland, the little apple buds are starting to slowly swell and ripen into little balls of juicy soon to be edible goodness. I wonder what the tree would say, if I imbued this living thing devoid of consciousness a mind so that it could think, and lips so that it could speak, I think it would plead with me in an ever so honest way. It would say “Hey.. I give you this fruit year after year, season after season, and you kill me… Why do you do this? Bringer of air and food into your life; all I ask is that you respect me” I would feel a terrible guilt, for here in this imaginary conversation I must speak for all mankind when I reply that “I’m sorry, I do appreciate all that you and like you do for us tirelessly year after year, but I can no more stop killing you than you yourself could refuse to blossom into life each spring while you are able, for it is your nature, and you must obey your nature, like we must obey ours in killing you, for our pride will not allow us to conceive of the idea that you have just as much right to life as we do, your betters must take priority”, and there would be no help in this truth, only pain… And the tree would not speak again, for it would know that all the words in the world would not save it if it came to a choice between my and his existence. Man, for all his reason, is beyond a beast.

The Bastard Wind took my Plum Tree down last night too, curse the fucking air for moving at high speed, taking away the incredibly local source of favourite fruit!

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