I remember when the sky was always clear, and the soil was soft. I remember when the only language that was spoken was made up of melodic chirps from finches and wrens. My trunk began as a tiny green sprout. It was tedious work pushing through the ground, but I could sense my brothers and sisters cheering me on. As an adolescent, I enjoyed sweet spring breezes and swayed when the animals scurried by. I observed as the elder spruces passed ideas back and forth as they bet on which animal would evolve into what next. I grew up in a warm and serene location. The soil was rich, and plant life was lush and abundant. A stream wound around the land in a trickling song.

Most of us felt that it was a blessing to be here for so long and see what would unfold over time. One year, we went months without any water. Our youngest seedlings perished in the heat. We lost over a thousand of our best spruces. Of course, I could not have counted how many trees had died during the drought. Word spread quickly back then. Redwoods were able to hear about the latest soil trends and water shortages in an oak community on the other side of the earth in only a matter of days thanks to a convenient string of trees that reported information to each other through the line. This was done in a way similar to how the animals with two legs would later create lines that somehow carried what they said from one strange device to another. In our opinion, they would have been better off using our method. The animals with two legs, however, did not show up for quite some time when I was alive. I had been relaxing in the rays of the sun and providing superior housing for the birds for six thousand years before they came around. I must say that, after all of my time spent in my serene home surrounded by fascinating creatures, the animals with two legs were by far the strangest.


At first, these animals seemed like they weren’t going to make it. I had seen this happen to many species. The trees agree that they were just meant to be here for a short time. They were here to teach the other animals lessons and help all of us grow. The animals with two legs seemed confused about life, as if they didn’t know why they were here. This was a new and puzzling thought. It is a given fact that trees are meant to be here to help and care for the animals in this world. It seemed difficult to imagine why they would question their purpose here. Aside from the constant questioning, the trees noticed that they had a desire for power from the very beginning. However, we could not possibly have imagined how awfully destructive this desire would become.


I did not notice many of the animals with two legs when they first appeared. As a young tree, I saw potential and intelligence in them. They seemed to have the ability to live harmoniously with all of us and to even make the environment an even more pleasant place to live. They gradually became more abundant, and I was glad to provide shade in the searing heat or a dry place to sleep in the pouring rain. My willingness to be helpful was hesitant, however, when providing a hiding place. To be more specific, a hiding place from others of their own kind during times of battle. I am perfectly aware that for other animals and insects, fighting is a part of their nature and who they are, but these animals were different. They seemed to be more perceptive and capable of communication than other animals were. I felt that a creature that seemed so capable of problem solving and strategy should not have a need to fight. Nevertheless, these creatures, or “humans” as they later called themselves, were highly appreciative of we trees. Some groups would surround our trunks and sing songs of praise for our shelter and beauty. The smaller ones would bring us water from nearby springs in their cupped paws and pour it on the soil above our roots. There seemed to have been a unanimous feeling of appreciation towards us.


As time passed, we watched as the appreciation and harmony were replaced with greed and arrogance. Five summers passed while bullets whizzed past our leaves or lodged into our bark. People dressed in a stiff colored material like a furry animal would hunch under our branches, holding rocks that were sharp and shiny. The blood of their own kind was smeared on these rocks. The spruces were bewildered when we discovered the reason for this malice and destruction. To our surprise, these humans were fighting over land. Trees share similar needs as these humans do; yet we find a way to survive without destroying one another. Water, nutrients, land, and health have all been attained while living in harmony. We trees watched with despair at the battles raging between them, while wishing that they would realize that our ways of living could help them.


Years later, word traveled down the line that the humans were creating hollow mounds made of our friends. They brought in the idea that they never had enough, and they seemed to always want to build more. As they worked in the mounds, cloudy wind would spew out. These clouds traveled far throughout the lands. They were dark and turned our trunks grey. They hovered in the air, growing thicker and thicker, until people coughed and tiny animals hid. It seemed that the thicker they became, the faster our friends fell. Sounds of redwoods, pines, spruces, and oaks thudding to the ground seemed to shake the Earth. Anger filled me to my roots when I heard that the sharp and shiny rocks that the humans used on each other were being used to kill our friends. I can understand that we must all sacrifice sometimes, as this is just part of being alive. But how can so many of us fall? How can these creatures possibly think that taking away so much of the earth can benefit them in the end? The appreciation that had been radiated towards all of us had vanished. They had forgotten about whom they shared their home with.


My family became sick as the sooty clouds closed around us. Many of them grew dark spots, and their leaves shriveled. As we began to weaken, it became clear that some would fall. The stream became choked with filth and plastic. We knew that we must take action. A young sapling proposed that we wrap our roots together. He thought that, by growing our roots out until they were entangled, our bases would become sturdy. We would support each other as a team. As helpless as we felt, we decided to give this a try.


The darkness thickened. The number of animals that had once run around our trunks began to dwindle. Birds no longer fluttered from our leaves or swept up seeds that would fall and sprout into one of our own kind. Young saplings became a rarity to see. Our roots had twisted and curved into an enormous knot beneath the filthy soil. Day after day we focused our energy and will deep into the earth. Many of us became intensely frustrated as they watched trees of all size and color fall. Some felt that there was no point; these monsters had already destroyed our home. I, being known for my optimism, never questioned our task. I was willing to accept anything that would keep our species alive and unified. Then, gradually, trees that were tilted from fatigue seemed to no longer continue tilting. The spruces whose bases were frail and splintering seemed to hold stronger. We praised the elder spruce that had once proposed the idea as a tiny tree. It seemed as though we were going to make it. Relief swept through our trunks and danced out of our leaves.


Our joy did not last. We watched as the world darkened. The humans began wearing shiny objects on their faces. They called them “gas masks”. I wondered why they didn’t give any to us. Would these save my brothers and sisters? Our roots began to weaken. Even though the roots that were entangled in a knot were firm and sturdy, the roots closest to our trunks began to weaken without support. The more the gas masks appeared, the more the trees fell. Sickening cracking noises could be heard throughout the forests as the trunks of trees from many generations snapped. It seemed that every time the body of a tree hit the ground, my leaves wilted a little more.


My leaves are now scattered along the trashed soil. The spruces that I had become fond of and shared my thoughts with lay lifeless around me. Now my roots that I had grown out with such determination lay in a knot that are no longer attached to anything. I am living in a graveyard, and I am holding onto the corpses of my family. My roots no longer felt as though they brought nutrients and life to my body. I realized bitterly that the humans had destroyed us. Resentment coursed through me as I thought about the greed and insanity that they had brought. I used to watch tiny animals lose their sense of direction and become alone. We had been grateful that trees never had to experience this feeling, as we were always together in packs. But now I realize that anyone can feel alone. I am alone.


A pack of humans makes their way through rotting tree limbs and scattered garbage. The tiny humans are scampering around and are scavenging through the soil and wood. The larger humans bark at them to stay close. They seem to be trying to find a clear spot to build on. The pack disappears behind a pile of rocks. I notice that one of the tiny humans has stayed behind to explore. She notices my brittle trunk. Approaching me cautiously, she lays a soft paw on my wood and looks up. Her mask is much too large for her face. It slips over her eyes as she glances upwards. It is evident that she rarely sees trees. Her mouth curves into a grin as she sticks her paw into her pocket and carefully pulls out a tiny ball. It is a spruce seed. How she knew what to do next is a mystery, as humans no longer teach their young how to raise plants. Somehow this fascinating creature knew exactly what to do. She knelt down and stuck a small finger into the soil. The seed was placed carefully into the small hole that she had made. It was tenderly covered with the freshest soil that could be found. A voice yelled out from behind the mound of rocks. The girl quickly stood, smiled up at my branches and skipped off into the distance.