Image by かみかみ するめ from Pixabay And altered in Canva
Life began weightlessly. The caretaker urged water into the soil, pulling our stems up and digging our roots down. They remembered gravity. We grew towards the small sun, stretching, untethered, limitless, wonderful. The landing wasn’t. We staggered under gravity. Two of us broke with a sickening snap. They weren’t strong enough.
From the metal home we were brought through harsh winds that tore off leaves into another building. Plastic walls thrashed in the wind and let through weak light that was the wrong colour. The caretakers gave us sticks to help us grow, to take the weight of this new found world. The two that broke died, even with The caretakers meticulous administrations. I did not want to die. I wanted to grow reach the sky, to grow past the plastic roof and touch the clouds of this new world.
Some of our roots grew too large for our pots. I broke mine first, roots digging through the ceramic until it fell around me with a clang. I am a tree, my roots are meant to dig deep. The Caretakers dug me a hole and buried my roots with in it. The soil is wrong, so wrong. The water is sour, the dirt spicy, my roots they it. I cannot touch the sky like this. The fern fronds have turned into a clenched, pained spiral that threatens to crumble.
They understood. They saw us wilting, saw our suffering and gave us fresh water, good water. Bless them. But the earth, the soil, it still itched and burned. They used a spray, everyone of us in purple, and treating the ground with more of the same. For days it tingled, and we changed. Green turning to purple, bark turned hardy. None of us are delicate any longer. We are strong, hardy. We will thrive in this place. We will touch the sky.
A storm tore the plastic house, and stole some leaves from us. We bent enough not to break. At least most of us didn’t. A few lost many branches and one fell. Our roots intertwined and deep we didn’t get pulled away like the supports of our former protection. The caretakers praised us. Patting our bark and smearing something healing on the few broken branches. We were all glad they didn’t. We can breathe this air better.
The caretakers built their homes around us, creating things we didn’t understand. They still cared for us, continued to turn us purple so we’d stay strong. Our changed leaves soaked in the sunlight and feasted. When the next storm came it did nothing but rustle our leaves. We’d grown stronger than this place, then this weather.
Cold came. Sudden and bitter. Howling. Snow so deep the caretakers stood atop it in strange shoes. But the cold didn’t freeze our roots or reach our heartwood. We lived on. That pleased the caretakers to. They spoke praise through scarves and patted us with gloved hands. Our leaves weren’t strong enough though, and they froze. We survived, but under the weak light and the long frigid nights we couldn’t thrive. We longed for the vicious heat to try to wilt us.
The cold left, and warmth returned. We grew and flowered. The caretakers released bugs, which buzzed pleasingly as they went from bloom to bloom. We grew fruit to please them, these strange ambling things whose sole purpose seemed to be to help us grow. I dropped a fruit for them. One of them caught it as it fell, and they discussed if it’d be safe to eat. Of course it would be; we loved them. They talked of tests as they returned to their metal homes.
We dropped more fruit, and The Caretakers started using ladders to reach the fruit of those of us who’d grown taller. We stopped letting the fruit drop so it wouldn’t be damaged in the fall. The caretakers started eating them, marvelling at the taste. Of course we made them sweet, it’s our gift to them. Our thanks for strong bark and safe roots. For helping us touch the sky.
Our fruit changed the caretakers. They became purple like us. They wore less layers in the cold; their skin no longer burned under the brutal sun. Some stopped eating the fruit; they refused to change, to be anything but what they were, while others seemed pleased by it. They yelled at one another. Yelled about safety and change, about going home. But this is home. We touch this sky.
The unchanged left. They flew beyond the sky and disappeared. The rest remained. They consumed our fruit for many seasons, changing, changing and changing more. They grew leaves, and then one day they began to grow with us. They reached for the sky. The metal homes fell, the seasons passed. Our fruit grew more of our own. We spread across the planet, bringing life to a lifeless world.