The dirt is disturbed. The metal encloses my roots in its undead grasp, lifting me up and away from the soil where I once stood. By the time the moon wanes back into darkness, I meet the ground again with a tremble of relief. I have been moved. However, the darkness reveals nothing but the picture of harmony. 

The old oak no longer sits in a cluster of mushrooms, and instead an exquisite elm raises its branches across a creek that bisects the land. With the sunrise comes a startling surprise. Light peeks above the horizon, illuminating a horrendous scene that unfolds itself around me. Symmetrical tendrils of stone streak across the grass, crushing any life beneath. A massive maple is dwarfed by the towering stone structures that jut into the sky, higher than the birds flew, shadowing the small creatures scuttling about. Behind metal casings, autonomous beasts awaken from their slumber, releasing honks that rival even the loudest geese. These creatures — humans — seem to enjoy creating noise in the most pointless ways. 

“Papers, papers! Get the scoop about the shmoop in the White House!” One yells with reckless abandon.

“No, you move, goddammit!” shouts another as it shoves its way through the crowd.

They don’t stop talking. These humans are creatures I have yet to understand.

Strength in numbers. A basic philosophy even the most simple of creatures follow and respect, so it should be no surprise that these humans do the same. Every horde of the bipedal creatures that tromp by jostles me to the roots, as if I may jump free from the ground. My roots already reach deep into the dirt, feeling past stones and sticks of brethren long gone. The earth has been the only constant through this odyssey, and I slumber in its comforting grasp. 

By some dark deed done in the night, I have suffered the wrath of these beings. Helplessly, I watched as a pair of the humans descend upon me in some fit of hysterics, comparable to rabid raccoons in the midst of spring. Twin pricks of a steel weapon mar the bark upon my trunk, forming words they call names. I will the gods to smite the offenders then and there but down comes not justice, but a drop of rain. Every plip against the blades of grass comes as a personal offense, taking me back to a time of hefty rains. I can only stand against the downpour as the two sit beneath my foliage. The man looks back, revealing a jagged dash along his face. Under any other circumstances, I might have been shocked, even horrified for this deviant. Even with prejudice, something clicks: a feeling of pity. Too well have I known the feeling of irreversible damage upon myself. He turns away as he is pulled away into the rain by the other, and fades back into the ambient light from where they came.

With a flash of scenery, time rushes through its linear path. Everything has been a blur of restless people and frantic movement, but it slows during this particular moment. Approaching with clear hostile intent, a pack of humans bears down on a sole soul sprinting in fear. 

He cries incoherently as he trips over his own appendages, begging, “Mercy, mercy. Please, I beg of you.”

The pack shows no sign of appeasement as one raises to the huddled lump on the ground a metallic instrument. The whimpering ceases abruptly to a crack of the air and a flare of light. Splayed across the grass is the now-unliving body of the man who had desperately cried for mercy. 

“No witnesses, kid. Let’s go, guys.” 

They leave behind not only the glazed stare of the man on the ground but my watchful gaze. I wait for the man to stir, to rise and return to shouting in the crowd and running in the rain — but he lies splayed across the grass, unmoving. The man remains still for hours before the rhythmic tap of footsteps brings another human. A mark across the newcomer’s face appears strangely familiar. A horrified shout stirs the lazy waterfowl that rise slowly and plunge back beneath the surface of the water. Alerted by the sound, a crowd soon encircles the body and the scarred man vanishes into it before I can examine him closer. The humans spend hours huddled about the body, yet to me, it seems only seconds as time picks up its stride, leaving behind a single witness to this lull within its unbreakable march forward.

Slowing in the passage of my existence, I adjust to the speed of normality to awaken to a cloudless day. The sky shines endless shades of blue, as if a divine being had painted it. Blotting out the source of light are two pillars soaring taller than a bird might dream to, standing like two gatekeepers to the heavens. They can only serve as a testament to mankind’s dismissal of mortal limits, with these structures seemingly invincible. By now, I have grown accustomed to the unholy clamor of the city, and hearing a plane rocket past was only part of a greater cacophony. Yet, I am drawn to a single plane that moves purposefully across the sky. A passing dog stops in its tracks and swings its head toward the plane. Before I can read into its panicked reaction, there is a noise. As if a mountain had split in two, the sound wavers in the air before detonating. Thick smoke oozes from the obelisk of stone, forming a drooping cloud of death. Small pellets of concrete drop from the sides in a cascade of gravel. But it wasn’t all inorganic material that fell from the tower. One by one, humans are leaping from the windows, throwing themselves out instead of suffering the slow roast above. 

People scream, yell, and emit feral sounds of terror and disbelief, and I feel inclined to join them. I wail unheard sounds with every crease on my trunk; not a single leaf is unmoving. Before the men in safety vests can herd the crowd, a second plane cleaves into the mirroring tower with a quavering explosion. An eruption of sound blows back the safety jacket men, and the crowd pours down the streets, tripping and stumbling away. A deep tremor passes through my roots. With a behemoth monster’s final breath, the tower implodes, sending dust into the canvas once painted blue. 

The humans no longer have plastered smiles and bounding steps. They stoop lower than a weeping willow, tenser than a branch about to snap. And above, there no longer rises the fingers of God, struck down by mankind’s love of destruction. A clicking of hard-soled shoes trails down the path followed by the scarred man. He sits on the lone bench, sighing like he held the weight of 20 men upon his shoulders. A sandwich rests near his hand, but no motion is made toward it. 

He mumbles to nobody in particular, “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save her, man.”

I yearn to speak, but my words are sealed behind the tough bark, and my branches can only shudder in return. A gradual understanding comes to me.

A small stream flows appeasingly across the land, bending to the contour of the ground. A pair of deer drink sparingly, snouts stuck beneath the lapping curls of water in blissful ignorance. Not a single soul dares disturb the peace for fear of losing it forever. But one creature hides in the shrub, waiting to pounce. 

I remember the wolf. 

The wolf cares not for the serenity
of others. 

No. It has its own agenda.

It jumps onto one of the deer’s necks, clawing savagely. The other deer has fled. The birds have stopped
 their song. The stream seems to cease to flow. Detecting no more prey, the wolf slinks back into the wood, disappearing without a backward glance.

No. This little story has no place in my perceptions.

Or does it? Every human is a wolf. They hide it with hands and legs, but their guns and bombs are but more than fangs to a deer. And the coveted peace has long gone. They recover fast. Like a springy spruce, the humans have already snapped back. Instead of mindless panic and swarming crowds, they march down the streets in hordes — chanting, shouting, and waving signs at the buildings. 

“When does this end, Mr. President? When do terrorist attacks and endangering our troops stop, Mr. President? I’ll tell you. They stop now.”

A swell of consent and cheering erupts from the crowd. Within a month of the collisions with the towers, the humans were rallying against what appeared to be my sanity. Not a day passes without a gathering of gargantuan size; seemingly endless enthusiasm from the once-somber beings.

“This is no joke. When my brothers and sisters went down in them towers, I was not laughing. We should not be separated by our skin or our God in this time of need, when our combined spirit is needed most. Can I get an amen?” 

The last I hear of the humans is a rumbling cheer before years compress into a split second, leaving me to stretch higher and dig deeper.

The concrete has soaked up enough of the sun’s energy to burn any living thing that touches it. As I watch a lizard jump about, attempting to circumvent the heat, an old man hobbles on his cane down the path, narrowly missed by an impatient cyclist. 

Slumping into the park bench, he plucks the hat from his shaven head, looking into the sky. A ridge of scar tissue presents an unnaturally straight contour on his face, folding with every wrinkle. I immediately dismiss the notion that this could be the same man who visited on
a rainy day years ago. Just too different-looking. 

It should have been a normal day. A sea of blue with titanic cruisers of white speckled across it. Instead, permanently stormy blotches fill the sky, the only whisper of a cloud belonging to a trail of smoke from towers that jut into the atmosphere. It’s as if they take a titanic step every time I look away, weeping angels of stone soaring across the skyline. 

Only a sapling’s life passes before my roots meet ends with the cold, dead concrete, shrinking away as if they intruded upon some forbidden pact. I feel no more free than the nut within an acorn, except the walls may never crack. Every day the sky grows darker, and I can only watch knowing that night will transcend day and the carpet of blue will dull more gray than the buildings penetrating it. But that’s just paranoia, I tell myself. Humans are smarter than self-destruction.

Oh, if I could scream, I would. They’ve done it, those humans, they’ve done it! I waved my branches and I ruffled my leaves at their descent, but they only seemed more eager than ever to continue. Hourglass-figured obelisks mark the landscape with their stench, angrily puffing dark smoke into the air like a train with a vengeance. But a train is easy to stop. And these humans, they know nothing but to put their foot on the ignition and drive on without a backward glance. I take their lead. I no longer protest their self-deprecating acts and watch until all is but a shade of suffocating gray.