#208 Evergreen

by Tracy Davidson

It tickles. The way squirrels scamper up and down my trunk, along my limbs. When I was just a sapling, the sensation used to make me giggle, and I would shake my new leaves off before they’d even had a chance to grow. Now I’ve developed a thicker skin, I no longer shake and squirm. But I still enjoy it.

I like to see and feel life around and over me. The squirrels, the birds, even the insects. I provide them with food and shelter. They provide me with purpose and with company, for I have learnt to understand the chirping and twittering, the chattering and bird calls over the years. They bring me news of life beyond these woods. They tell me the world of humans comes ever closer.

I do not fear humans. Small ones come here sometimes. They seem to like climbing on my older, bigger, brothers. They hang ropes off of their limbs and swing on them. My nearest brother said it chafes a little and their shouting gives him a headache. But I like to watch them play, listen to the noise they make. I wonder what it must feel like to move the way humans do. To walk, run, skip. To not be stuck firm in one place. Forever.

But I’m told their lives are relatively short compared to ours. It must be all that rushing about they do. Perhaps there’s something to be said for standing still.