Roots

I like talking to trees. Not that I think they understand or are even listening. But I find it a comfort to imagine an intelligence that takes a radically different form from ours. Imagining that causes me to slow down and notice the world around me and the assumptions I’m making as I move through it.

I look at the trunks and leaves and branches and roots, all working to support these alien creatures among us seemingly knowing their individual tasks. So familiar and yet so foreign.

Talking to them will probably get us less benefit than listening to them. That’s often the case.