The rustle of green leaves flapping into each other occasionally muted the crunch of brown leaves under my foot. A reminder that you can be as loud in death as you can in life. The woods is good for that, those subtle reality checks. A woodpecker hallowed out a tree in the distance, the screams of the bugs inside went unheard.
All around me were countless examples of the hostility of nature. Dead leaves lined the forest floor, blank of vegetation from the lack of sunlight. The trees greedily absorbed every sliver of light. They didn’t even allow any for the saplings, their children.
I’m willing to recognize that the greed of these great oaks is mindless. Trees don’t starve their would-be children of light and rain out of conscious action, they do it out of mere superiority. Their reward for arriving first.
“My light,” I basically asked the trees with my arms out airplane-style. Looking up at their scattered branches I waited for a response. After a couple seconds I decided they don’t speak English, which is probably for the best. Doesn’t mean I would quit talking to them. They’re the only ones who will listen and definitely the only ones I can tell.
I dropped my bag with a thud that scattered the leaf carpet. With no stumps in sight, it would have to be my chair for this cigarette break. I plopped down on the bag and lit a Red, watching the smoke dissipate into the canopy.
“Square?” I hand a smoke to the closest elm tree but she ignores me. They seem uneasy by my presence but I can’t put my finger on it. The elms and oaks were suspiciously hunched over and the cedars struggled to avoid my eye contact. I shifted on my chair and scratched the back of my head from the awkward tension. The cig was helping, I just wished someone would smoke one with me.
“How about you, Chris? You want a square?” I chuckled. He couldn’t have one. I fucken hate that guy. Which is irrelevant because he physically couldn’t have one due to his lack of fingers. Also, there was no way i was letting him out of that bag yet.