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2018 Jun 26

15 minutes: The trees looked like, smell like, etc

Home. That's all she could describe it as. It was home.

Not a place she had ever been to or could remember, but this was where she always thought she wanted to be. This was where she was meant to be, where she belonged. Maybe she lived here in a former life, and now her primordial memories were somehow being injected back into the present.

The leaves, the soil, the water, the way the trunks of her siblings protected her from sun and wind, the way rain dripped from above to quench her thirst. The way she wanted to dig her heels deep into the ground, reach out in all directions, and disappear among the anonymity of the other trees around her, weave herself into the arteries of a greater spirit, centuries old, more ancient than written history, memories passed on in ways her human siblings would never understand, memories of mountains rising and river courses changing, slow memories gathered over thousands of years, yet recalled in impressions and flashes of sensation.

She wanted to melt herself into it all, to jump from consciousness to consciousness within a sea of swirling paint. Colors form and fade, brighten and merge, at times taking centuries to move an inch, at others interrupted within seconds. There was desire here, but unlike anything in the human world. Humans were closer to mayflies - their dreams, their hopes flickered in and out before they could be noticed, of great importance to each individual, but of no consequence to what the trees have seen, even without moving an inch from the soils of childhood.

Humans played in the waves of the sea, and to them it was a wonder. She would play in the waves of the land, waves that her former siblings would never be around to see or notice. And she would ride the rise of hills and mountains as the days spun like fireflies around her.

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