Week 1 Day 1:
Krish.. Krish.. Krackle, disturbance, a presence sends vibrations through my roots, a harsh, striking movement, hurried, deliberate. Not the slow, considerate arrival of rain, nor the gentle, subtle nature of natives. My neighbors react alike; I could feel the shared roots tensing, anticipating. The tremor momentarily halts, and gasps of warm air hit me in unrhythmic bursts. Then, in a vicious manner, a part of me was torn forcefully away, in a state of raw shock, I call upon my protectors, blasting signals at my little warriors, and I feel them scurrying to my aid. I begin, slowly, what I have always done. The closing. The slow, patient covering over of what has been opened. It will take time, it always takes time, but I have nothing but time, which is the one thing the intruder, with its hurried uneven weight, does not seem to have. Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the currents shift, the vibrations retreat: Krish….Krish… Krackle marking its hurried retreat, growing fainter, fainter. The old gentle hum of my surroundings resumes, my neighbors settle down, and our little cove takes a collective breath.
Week 5 Day 2:
Krish.. Krish.. Krackle, those vibrations return, the same graceless cadence of thumps, reverberating through the shared roots: Endearing, familiar, and routine. The puffs of warm breath have become indistinguishable from the natural breeze rippling through me. A slight pressure against my body, a rough yet cordial touch. The network does not stir, droning in its usual frequency. I attempted to reach out with my thin, white roots, curling them around my new neighbor, but they didn’t budge, and I didn’t sense a presence reaching back towards me.
Week 15 day 1:
Krish.. Krish.. It was but the rustling wind, I feel it brushing through my tired frame, taking bits and pieces of me to the ground with every slight contact. The mundane hums persist, the signals flow back and forth.
Now the roots wait for their tread Like returning rain
Once harsh as thunder