A Visitor
The forest is always a busy place. To the casual observer, (especially if they are human)
It is almost always silent. But, to its inhabitants it is a teeming
metropolis and even at the quietest of times the air is buzzing with the various silent
messages which are the standard form of communication. The trees are the main culprit
Behind the noise, and they were almost always chatting, using they’re faint electricity that are they’re own form of messages. All the animals (with the exception of the humans) were capable of giving off powerful energy messages, but these were supposed to be reserved for emergency alerts of the whole woods and were seldom used. Mostly, the creatures relied on the more subtle energy messages that were only apparent if you were up close. The one problem with this kind of communication is that all of the different kinds of animals have their own language, although most of them are pretty similar. The animals try to make it a point to know the other dialects (with the exception of the birds, which have a language so different it would take anyone a long time to learn. Actually, they are so proud of their private language that they try to voice it out loud)) but the Trees are different. They do not share the “control center” brain like the ones that the more portable creatures use, but they can still sense things, like light, the changing seasons, and smells, But most of all, they can sense intent, and the mood of the nearest beings. Most plants share at least a variation of this ability but none of them as strongly as the trees. The trees have this ability so well mastered as to be able to register the deepest thoughts of the subconscious in the humans and animals.
Trees don’t register some feelings, like greed and anticipation, but they have very well developed memories and they can sense all feelings in other creatures. Most of the forest animals don’t have much on their minds. This doesn’t mean they aren’t intelligent, far from it, but they rarely worry about what might happen, and they concentrate on doing what they need to do. Thus, their minds are usually full of thoughts about finding food, or protecting their family, or their pack, or herd or flock or just themselves. This is very boring for the trees; they have no fun listening to the normal pedestrians of the forest.
That’s why they love it whenever a human comes along. That is, if that particular person is not bent on destroying the entire forest, which some are. Humans, with all their foolish worries and fears. They’re always thinking about an upcoming test, competition or just worrying about a mean boss at work. For the trees, it was like talk radio. Usually, But not always. Sometimes it was not so entertaining, for humans lives are sometimes full of sadness. Especially this one’s.
Willow stepped slowly along the rarely used path. Her throat felt tight, like it was being squeezed. She always felt like this when it was time to take the dreaded weekly trip to the beautiful grove of trees by the river. She came every week, to sprinkle seed for the birds and, if it was dry, to give some water to the trees. Also, she came to visit the grave.
It was about six months old now, but the flowers planted at the base of the stone never died, thanks to constant care from Willow. She would have rather been somewhere else, instead of caring for the entire copse, but the occupant of the tomb had given her final wish, for the grove of trees by the river bank, her final resting place, to be taken care of. And that was what was happening, thanks to the deceased person’s daughter, Willow,
The one who would rather be anywhere besides the painful grove, the grove of memories.
It was midsummer, and the entire country was experiencing a serious draught. The trees were feeling it to, and the river was all but nonexistent. Willow had brought a hose to attach to the nearby utility shed, and she leaned in close to the tree to deliver her precious water. To the poor tree, her proximity meant that all her strongest feelings would be blasted towards him.
Trees do not have names, as they don’t need them. They can sense each others differences and they learn to recognize the different beings.
The tree that Willow was bent on watering was a relatively young poplar. He was not used to experiencing human feelings; in fact this was only the second time he had even been close enough to make contact. (The first time it had been a toddler that had wandered off, he had decided to point it back towards his mother.)
So for him, being hit with an adult person’s thoughts, and a grieving person’s thoughts at that, was very traumatic. Due to his inexperience and age, he had not yet figured out how to block other’s feelings to the point where you do not feel them yourself. So, he found himself experiencing Willow’s fears, hopes, and memories. He might have been stuck working his way through them for ever, but some of the other, more experienced trees helped using their link with him to deteriorate the energy connection.
The poor poplar wanted to help the person that had almost suffocated him in feelings.
He was new to having so much happening to him, and he wanted to help Willow.
The other trees were skeptic, but they eventually agreed. After all, this was not the first time they had done something like this. So, they devised a plan, and set about making it happen.
Willow finished watering the slim poplar, and started pulling the long hose towards the next tree. She could feel a tear making her way down her cheek, and she could barely see through the water in her eyes. She put the hose on the ground by the tree’s trunk, and then sat down on one of the roots sticking up from the ground and buried her face in her hands. She put her head back against the tree, and heaved a long sigh. Suddenly, her fingers began to tingle and she looked down, thinking she was going to see that something had bitten her hand. But there was nothing there, and now the tingle was subsiding. Maybe they had just fallen asleep. She was feeling very tired now, and maybe she should take a nap for a while. So she did.
When she woke up, the sun was setting and it was starting to get dark. She jumped up, surprised that she had slept that long. She felt strange, and overwhelmingly happy. She looked towards the stone marked tomb that had haunted her for so long. She still missed the occupant, but she felt different. She was sad that there would be no more happy times spent in the company of this person, but she was happy that the time she had had happened like it did. There was no more guilt, no more fear. Much more calmly, she finished watering the trees and threw a few handfuls of bird feed on the ground in front of the grave.
She kept returning every week, to take care of the tiny copse by the river bank. It would still be a grove of memories, but it would not be painful anymore.
What's there now is a little sudden. And especially because the trees are making her fall asleep (which I assume is what happened) it should be like she's being intoxicated into sleep... waves of exhaustion washing over her.
