Leaf Song

The wind caresses me on this summer night, and my extremities clap in response to its stimulating touch. We have been playing this game for a long time. What a tease it is, but I can’t help but dance anyway, sometimes with my whole being...or at least the part of me that lives above the ground. My friends, the other trees, dance, as well, and together we sing with our leaves, in time with the gusts and flows of whichever wind blows on that day. When the wind is blowing from the East, we dance the delicate dance of spring buds and all things green. When the wind is blowing from the South, we dance the frenzied, powerful dance of summer storms. When the wind is blowing from the West, we dance the graceful, soothing dance of flowing water. And when the North wind blows, we dance the dark dance of death.

All of our dances are important, just as all of the seasons are. Death is necessary, and feeds life. Many of us trees live a long time, and get to experience that firsthand. We see how the dead- the dead leaves, the dead animals, and even the dead trees- are devoured by insects and fungi, broken down and turned into nutritious soil, just waiting for new life to begin the cycle again. Standing still for long periods of time, and having hearts which beat in tune to the rhythm of the forest, us trees are ideally suited to observe all the mysteries of life, and death. It doesn’t make us sad, even as we fight to survive. We think it’s beautiful.

Living in the forest is an adventure, even though I’m rooted in place. Every day is different. Birds come and birds go. Some just rest on my branches for a few moments while they call to their kin, while some build their homes upon my upper branches, and raise their young there. I do enjoy the excitement of supporting those little families! Sometimes, I see generation after generation grow within my benevolent embrace. Their chirps and calls add another dimension to the songs me and my friends sing.

I’m not that crazy about the squirrels, and the way they run up and down me like fools, piercing me with their little claws, and getting into loud tiffs with one another, day after day...but they’re squirrels, what can you do? They have their uses. Their tiny brains are too small to store data on all the seeds and nuts they bury for safekeeping...so sometimes, they end up planting trees! They are, in fact, little beady-eyed tree planters, and deserve some credit for that.

Some days, mushroom spores blow through the air and land upon my skin, then grow into strange, colourful growths...they’re kind of like accessories for trees. What’s interesting is that no two mushrooms are exactly alike. There are different families of mushrooms and they share characteristics but they grow into so many unique shapes! I get along with most fungi, though some are really selfish and like to absorb the nutrients I work so hard to make without giving me anything in return. Luckily, they don’t tend to live very long, as fungi are particular about their environment, so come dry or cold weather, they die.

Then, of course, there are insects...many, many different types of insects...running up and down my bark, tickling me, moving things around the forest, breeding, breaking down dead things, eating. They’re mostly okay, though some burrow inside me, and start devouring me from the center, exposing me to diseases, and worst case scenario, death. When that happens, when I feel threatened, I send signals to my kin, through our underground network, to beware. That way, they have a chance to toughen up their skin, and prevent the bad bugs from getting in. We look after our own.

The forest floor is much more complex than most people realize. Sometimes, I try to reach out to the other trees with my branches, but most often, I connect through my roots. I spread them out far around me, and far below, seeking out the nutrients in the soil, life-giving water, and the company and support of my fellow trees. Our network is vast, spreading everywhere beneath the forest floor, and allows us to more easily adapt to whichever challenges arise. And of course, my roots allow me to keep tabs upon my children who sprout up between my feet and grow up beside me.

Where I live, near the water, the beavers are probably the worst threat to our survival, with their big gnashing teeth and their propensity for chewing at our flesh even when they don’t need to construct new homes. Why else would they stop halfway through their decapitation? Or perhaps they simply get tired, or lose interest? At least a few of the humans around here have seen fit to protect some of us with netting to dissuade their gnawing. It goes to show that humans aren’t all bad.

No, humans aren’t all bad. Some of them respect us, honouring us with libations and offerings, hugging us, and speaking our praises. They depict us in their stories and in their art, recognizing our importance. Some of them plant us in their yards, and care for us, valuing our flowers and our fruit and the shade we provide for them. Some of them plant whole orchards, or forests of us, toiling away in the hot summer sun. Some of them seek to protect us, even going so far as to stand in front of others who seek to slaughter entire villages of us with their big, noisy, metal machines. I want to ask those other humans where they think they would be without us? Who would clean the air for them? Who would keep the planet from overheating?

And what sort of world would it be, without the music the wind makes as it passes through our leaves?