To Catch a Cloud

It was spring again. The flowers had finally bloomed, and the animals were active. Spring was your favorite time of year. 

You bask in the sunlight, spinning with your face pointing to the sky and your eyes closed. You laugh, I try to laugh with you. I like watching you, the world is bright and vibrant with you in it. I remember the old days. Days of peace, days where the grass was green and my thoughts were clear. Now, everything is gray. All these years have passed, and I’ve never forgotten about you. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about all the wonderful things you used to say. Remember when you tried to catch a cloud? You were only four, or five. You came into the yard with a glass jar and swung it in the air, trying to gather something. 

“Come here! I just want to talk!” You said, looking at the sky. It wasn’t until your parents called you to dinner that you went into the house. The next day, you were back, this time with a large plastic bag in your hand. “Clouds!” You yelled at the vast beyond. We were out there for hours. Eventually, you tightly grasped the bag closed and seemingly wrestled with it until it gave in. “Got it!” You exclaimed, excited. That’s when you looked at me, really looked at me. You saw me, and you smiled. 

“See ya!” You waved at me, and ran into the house. Surely you couldn’t have known what I was, right? I was just being ridiculous. Nobody had ever seen me, let alone talk to me. I had been here, in this exact spot, for decades, and you were the only one to ever truly notice me. You grew older and we grew closer. You sat under my leaves when it was too hot outside, you had picnics with the clouds next to me, and you introduced your parents and your friends to me, both of which thought you were either crazy or stupid. But you weren’t, I knew that. If anyone was crazy or stupid it was them, not you. You were perceptive, and saw things other people didn’t. You understood me. We became friends, you told me stories about a far off land that looks like a star with the naked eye, and how clouds are spirits of the dead. You always willed me to talk. I truly wanted to, but I couldn’t. Whenever I stayed silent, your face fell, clearly showing your disappointment. 

“It’s okay,” you said, “Maybe some other time.” You would leave, and I would sulk in your absence. You were my light. 

Years passed, eventually you stopped talking to me. You hung out with me less, and you preferred to stay inside and play on your devices. You would invite friends over, just to watch t.v. I never really understood human behavior. Did you really need a companion to watch television? 

Maybe you were acting this way because you needed a little time to find yourself. Don’t worry, I’d wait for you. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. In the meantime, perhaps I could work on myself. I could try to teach myself to talk, even if it would be difficult. My branches swayed in the wind, which didn’t seem to be here before. When had the weather gotten so violent? I could sense there was a harsh storm coming, the change in the mood outside was undeniable. I hope you would be okay, the house was very old. Your friends left (finally!), and you switched off all the lights in the house and sat on the couch. The t.v wasn’t on, and it looked like your eyes were closed. You liked being in the dark, it allowed you to dream. You told me this, remember? I closed my imaginary eyes along with you, and fantasized about a far off land in the stars, one where physics didn’t apply and we could be whatever we wanted to be.

That night I slept peacefully.

I woke up to the sound of cracking. The wind had gotten worse, and heavy rainfall hit the ground. It sounded like someone was throwing handfuls and handfuls of pennies at windows. The creaking sound continued. I realized it was coming from one of my branches. I was far away enough from the house for it not to hurt anyone, but I didn’t really want my limbs to fall off. I couldn’t feel pain, something that surprised me when I first realized what I was. I suppose I don’t have nerves or what-not. The branch didn’t seem to want to fall, it was fighting for its life. Sometimes I wondered whether my branches thought too, or if they were just a part of me. I couldn’t really move, so I never found out. At last, the poor branch succumbed to the elements, and fell to the ground with a violent ‘swoosh’ and ‘thump’. There were a few other trees around me, but I was at the top of the hill, so it was slightly like I was their emperor. At least, I always thought of myself that way. I was your favorite tree, you always ignored the others. I’m pretty sure they got jealous, unless they didn’t have thoughts. Am I the only tree that thinks? There’s no way for me to communicate with anything, so my only source of information was you. You. Wait, were you okay? You were no longer in the living room of your house, so you must have gone to your bedroom, or outside. You wouldn’t go outside right? It was irrational, and you’re not irrational. But these days it’s like I don’t even know you. I hope you didn’t forget about me.

The storm continued, showing no sign of subsiding. It was as if the rain and the wind were working together to create as much destruction as possible. My roots stretched, and a few of them ripped out of the ground. I was almost sideways, like I was bending over to pick up a dropped pencil. I had never seen a storm this bad. In the distance I thought I saw a flying trash can. Trees below me fell, screaming silently as they dropped, making a cracking sound in retrospect. The trees near your home started falling too. One fell on your roof, but don’t worry, it looks like your house is okay. It was early, only six or seven, but it looked like midnight with the dark rolling clouds covering the sun. To my left I saw another flying object, this time it looked like a port-a-potty. I wondered if there was construction going on down the road. More of my roots ripped through the ground. I was being pushed towards your house. From what I could tell, half of my roots were still sturdy. On the other hand, half of my roots were waving in the wind, slightly resembling hair. I lost another branch. This time, I barely noticed: mostly due to the overwhelming noise of the gushing wind. A drum like roll filled my hearing. Thunder most likely. There was a flash of light, seconds after the sound, and a blaze started on one of the trees. If I fell, or burned, would I still be alive? I didn’t quite know what would happen to me if I didn’t make it through this storm. Would you miss me? Or would you just plant another seed where I was to fill the hole in your yard? I hope it wasn’t the latter. The blaze was scorching the top of the tree, and the rain wasn’t putting it out. It spread from the uppermost part of the tall cypress all the way down to the bottom. It was like watching a match burn. The inferno didn’t move from the tree, the ground was too wet. The poor thing would be scorched alive. There was more lightning, luckily this time no flames followed behind. I was still fighting against the wind, willing my roots not to give up. Hopefully they were spread out far enough, but I wasn’t sure whether or not root length would matter. More of my peers plummeted. It was saddening to see my fellow trees yield to the storm. Extremely saddening. 

The worst of the storm was over. The rain had become a drizzle, and the wind had stopped. Even though the wind had stopped, its destruction was prominent. Trees lay scattered all over the ground, and the road was covered in debris. It appeared there wasn’t any serious damage. This neighborhood was built better than I originally thought. The animals were still in hiding, preparing for more. You came out from your house. I was relieved to see that you weren’t injured. 

Your eyes surveyed the damage, and they fell upon me. You ran to me, almost concerned. Your eyebrows furrowed when you approached me. 

“Ouch,” You said, seeing my roots sticking out of the ground. I guess you did still care about me. “We’ll get this fixed,” you smiled. You were my favorite person in the whole wide world. I don’t think your parents like you talking to trees, though. I realize now that I’ve never learned your name, nobody’s ever said it in front of me. Remember when you named me? You probably don’t, it was a while ago. I remember perfectly, it was the ideal name for me: Cloud. You said that clouds were ‘whimsical’ like me. You must have forgotten about it though, because now you don’t address me at all. 

“See ya!” You said, “I’ll be sure to tell Mom and Dad about your roots.” You walked off, looking at me over your shoulder, smiling. I was blissful, you made me happy. I went about my day watching the wildlife around me. 

You returned with your parents and showed me to them. They looked at you, eyes full of pity. They said things like: 

“There’s no saving it,” and “We’ll have to cut it.” You refused to listen.

“You’re not cutting her.” You responded, chin lifted. 

 Her? I had never really identified with either gender, I felt like it was a very human thing to do. Plus, I didn’t really have anything to judge my sex by. Why were these humans talking about me again? I wasn’t feeling very well. Your mother sighed. 

“This tree is a safety hazard,” She said. You shook your head. 

“No.” You argued with your parents for a while; I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation. Eventually, they gave in. 

“I’ll pay for the re-rooting,” you said, determined to keep me alive. Your parents looked at you, then at me.

“You don’t have to. If this tree really means that much to you…” said your father. 

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. You smiled in gratitude. 

“Thank you.” You said, eyes bright. Your parents walked away, shaking their heads and muttering to each other as they stepped. You turned to me and grinned.

Then, as always, you followed your parents home, not once looking back at me.

The dark yellow sun rose from the hills, bringing light to everything around it. It truly was a lovely day, the birds were chirping, it was sunny but not too hot, and there was a cool breeze floating through the air. Today, I decided to invent something. When humans did it, they became famous. Even if I wouldn’t gain renown, (with me being a tree and all) I’d do it for myself. A personal goal. Hmm, let’s see. What hasn’t been invented yet? Remember when you took a picture with me? Well, what if that picture moved? Ha! A moving picture. How very absurd! Well, that wasn’t too hard. It’s surprising not everyone is popular yet. My thoughts were very strange today, they’ve been strange since the storm. Maybe I have a consumption. Remember when you got hit in the head with a soccer ball and you told me you had a consumption? I didn’t know brains could be injured like that. 

Perhaps I’ll sleep. 

I woke up to the sound of buzzing. My roots were back in the ground, and I felt much better. My head was clear and the sun was out. You were sitting next to me, having a picnic with your parents. 

“It wasn’t that expensive,” they said to you. “And your tree is fixed.” You smiled, all your teeth showing. 

“Thank you,” you said, grateful. 

You were having sandwiches for lunch, pb&j sandwiches, your favorite type. 

Your mother took out a pocket knife. The blade shined in the sun.

She jabbed the knife into my bark. She drew the outline of a heart, and carved your initials inside it. You winced, maybe you thought it was hurting me, but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you looked away.  

“Thanks,” you said. Your mother smiled at you, constantly judging. The picnic continued in silence. Eventually, your parents left, leaving you to clean up. 

You started picking up the plates and utensils, occasionally stopping to take a breath of the crisp air. You dropped the items into the basket. “Do you sometimes think that humans aren’t the most intelligent species?” You asked, turning to me.

“Personally, I think we’re closed minded, and that animals who don’t refuse the possibility of something out of the ordinary are more intelligent.” You paused. “I mean, ants build their own civilizations, they have assigned roles, and yet we still think of them as stupid creatures.” You continued, “It’s the same with plants; they grow, breathe, move, eat, drink, and yet we still don’t really think of them as living.” You looked up at me. “We truly need to learn how to accept things, don’t we?” You were waiting for a response. Your hopeful eyes made me wish for nothing more than the ability to speak. I tried, I truly tried to force words out, but it was beyond my capability. Instead, the wind blew my branches towards you, and you took that as an agreement. Your whole face brightened. I felt proud, even if the movement wasn’t controlled by me. You looked at the carving again.

“Sorry about that,” you said. 

No reply.

“I’ll visit you again tomorrow, okay?” you said, turning your gaze to me. The draft lifted my branches, almost as if it were responding. It seemed windy this afternoon, hopefully there wouldn’t be another storm. You skipped away, the basket swinging in your left hand.

I didn’t like it when you left me alone.