CRAG CRY DARKNESS

This book is dedicated to those beings that I love and respect.

Oh beautiful earth, you who have stayed silent for too long, hear my cry and cast this burden from your back.

THE GROVE

A passage heard dim, in darkling wood.

An old place where, the evergreen stood.

Of primeval beings, did its music spoke.

And a mystery was, its beautiful note.

Of simple things, did its beats bespoke.

Drawing passion from, the hides it smote.

And dark was, its melody grim.

Not at all, a fliterous thing.

Of green and gray, was the key.

A tangled forest, of disharmony.

And notes as pure, as winter’s cold.

Breathed warm by the fire, of autumns fold.

Its fragrance pungent, it wreaked of old.

Though it smelt of rebirth, as the trees foretold.

Distaste touched, upon the lips of man.

For they know, it will breath again.

Into the labyrinth, went the minds eye.

As it cried free, to the cold dark sky.

And deep in the sub consciousness, did it hide.

And far from many, did it reside.

But few recognized its name.

Chanting to keep it aflame.

Masking it from view.

From those, who had no clue.

I am going to take you on a journey through time and space. Please excuse this presumed cliché, I assure you coming from me, it is totally original, and any way there is nothing new under the sun. All is the reworking of the same basic idea, as is this story passed onto you by the restrictions of my feeble perception and the limits of my human imagination.

This story is about a tree, and how, you may ask, do I know anything about trees? I don’t. I just like to think I do, and I hope for my sake, and your entertainment, you may believe that I do. 

The tree in this tale is of no importance, it only serves center point for this story. An entity to which the universe dances for, if you will. Probably much as the universe dances for you in your world, although I don’t pretend to know anything about your world. 

This story is a marvelous blend of fact and fiction, see if you can tell the difference. I know that I can’t, and to me, it makes little difference, after all aren’t we all just actors on the stage of life? Sorry, another cliché, though one that I particularly like. Anyway, carry on, and I will leave you for a time, in the hands, of the Grove.

PRELUDE

The Grove breathed the breath of ages, much as its primordial ancestors had done since time immemorial. Tasting the air, sampling its fine texture and taking from it what it needed, its every fiber alive with feeling and growth, before exhaling with the patience of one who bears witness to millennia. It gathered up the chemical constituents, assembling them in ever-complex forms, a tapestry of ancient beauty, to await the coming of the creator, the sun. The many headed architect of evolution.

Light. The Grove perceived light, as it could perceive nothing else, for light was its life and the sun its mother. When the first rays of a distant sun touched its limbs, it awoke from its semi slumber, to comprehend the world around it. 

Darkness did it see, or more truly, the absence of light brought forth by the shading of its distant relatives, who battled for supremacy for the passionate touch of the sun. Fleetingly, a part of the Grove ardently serenaded with the sun, giving and taking the ambrosia of life, in a test of wills. The earth below joined this battle, adding its own ancient strength to the fight, drawing from its bowels the rich mixture of nutrients so desperately needed, and forcing them to the limbs through the arteries of the earth. This left the Grove exhausted, but content.

At semi-rest, the Grove was conscious of its surroundings; the press of its distant relatives about it, fighting for the limited light; the distant shape of the sun sitting low on the horizon shedding its life sustaining light sparingly through the atmosphere. The Grove gave little thought to the rustle of small mammal like creatures in the undergrowth and the movement of birds in its dense canopy, before they were but useful servants that spread and ensured the survival of its species, now they were nothing. Brief flames that grew, and died, all so suddenly. 

Its only concern was the crowding. Never had the Grove experienced the like, a wall of lush evergreen blocking the sun from view and claiming the nutrients that were rightfully its, thwarting the Grove at every step, slyly changing and adapting to the conditions and gradually claiming more than the Grove could safely give up. 

The beings on either side were similar to the Grove, possessing the gnarled aged limbs that rose from the torso in a rich green tapestry. Decorated with the cones and flowers that would attest to the perpetuation of the species and possessing a timeless beauty that would soon be lost to the world. On closer inspection, the diversity was realized, subtle differences in leaf shape and trunk contour that lent itself to a myriad of different families. 

Many life forms were also apparent. Those that crept along the ground, carpeting the ground in a mosaic of canopy, and those that reached high, their trunks broad and strong to support their towering branches. Other life was also perceptible, especially prevalent in insect families, attesting to the movement of large dragonflies amongst the canopy and the brightly colored nematodes that slid gracefully through the peat. 

In a sense these were good times for the Grove, it was warm and the rains came often, allowing the Grove to expand its massive limbs high into the canopy to capture the illusive light. Its roots were able to stretch deeper into the earth, desperately seeking new pockets of nutrients, unclaimed by the others.

Today was no different for this ancient being, it fed, it grew, and it remembered times that had gone before. Its birth was a dim recollection, lost in the current of time. A moment of nakedness before the warm earth enveloped it, clutching it to its nourishing being and sustaining it until it could sustain itself. Those days were peaceful, the Grove reflected, until the coming of the light when the Grove first surrounded to the touch of the sun and began to harvest its pure radiance, forever relying on its touch, agonizing to be apart from it.

It grew rapidly as a sapling, marveling at its strength and vitality as it pushed amongst its brothers, competing desperately for the light. Its young roots pushing deeper still into the earth, drawing forth the nectar that would make its limbs strengthen and harden. It enjoyed the life supporting familiarity of heavy rain on its limbs, and the sensation of the rain amongst its roots, coursing through its being, much as the sun did.

The eons passed and the Grove grew stronger. Its narrow spindly limbs being replaced by the gnarled tough bark of its adulthood, reaching higher towards the heavens as though to pull the sun from the very sky. It watched with detached sadness as its brothers died around it, unable to compete with its strength, starved of the light, which it claimed to itself, lost in competitive exclusion. 

By its third century as man counted, it realized it was different from its cousins. Deep inside the very essence of its being it felt strange, it felt no need for the time consuming and energy wasting trials of reproduction, the continual setting of flower and cone. Instead it waited, dormant and infertile, a distant ancestral relic from another age, continually at war with its contemporary counterparts. 

The days seemed timeless as the sun tracked its way across the heavens, keeping low on the southern horizon. The temperature was warm and the Grove and its cousins flourished in the humid climate, reaching a density and diversity that would be unmatched for millennia.

Change came to the Grove sparingly and with a suddenness that shocked the Grove to the core of its being. Intruders had invaded its territory. Invaders, unlike any other. These new beings were different and possessed strange and dangerous traits that allowed them to quickly establish themselves at the expense of the ancient families. They proliferated rapidly growing far faster than the Grove could hope, changing and altering to compensate for the conditions and worming their way into every available niche that was left free. 

The Grove looked upon these outsiders, these freaks of evolution with disgust, though proudly watched them blacken and die with age as its mighty limbs were still in their youth. Though short lived was its smugness, for they only came again. The plants were what later would be known as flowering plants, or the angiosperms. A group that flourished and diversified in the rainforest conditions at this time. 

Unbeknownst to the Grove, the world was changing around it as the continental plates shifted and moved above the lithosphere, stirring with the inevitable slowness of large creatures, transporting and changing the very climate and geography of the earth. 

OF FROST

To hold to the light, one must acknowledge the dark,

to accept the light, one must accept the dark,

to dwell near the extremes of one, is to dwell near the extremes of the other,

and to balance one, can we balance the other?

The moon gathered the fiery light of heaven to its heart, save that which it left to the stars, for they were its ancient cousins and it wished them to be seen. From the distant earth, the moon reigned supreme in the night sky and it was proud of its bearing, even though it owed its radiance to the mother sun, whom it detested. The moon would often ponder its position and smirk at the sun that despite all its might, was unable to reveal its darkest side to the earth. This victory was always fleeting though, for the moon always lived in the earths shadow.

On this night, the moon was a pale glimmer of its full glory, a narrow tear in the fabric of the night, lost amongst the racing clouds that sought desperately to hide this pale atrocity from view. The moon however foiled the clouds and was given identity by the earth below. Its watchers were sentinel by common standards and though they were young in comparison to the moon, they shared an ancient relationship to the planet that spread back well before the coming of man. 

These creatures, for that is what they were, dwelled in a place forgotten by the passage of instances and somehow removed from the sway of the changing biosphere. It was a place where time stood still. This place had been given a million names in a million tongues and to each it meant something different, though they were all true. To the owl circling the thermal updrafts, searching for prey, it was a place that even its keen eyesight could not properly penetrate and to the mouse a warren of paths leading nowhere. And later, to the men who traveled to this distant place in the time of adaptive radiation, it was a place of spiritual foreboding to which their intellects could not penetrate and was simply referred to as peril.

For the point of understanding, they were trees, though they were one. A primordial uprising of branches that would tower over the ancient sequoia of the North Americas, their branches clutching at the distant sky as though to pull down the very sun on which they survived, trunks with a diameter unheard of in today’s modern families and an evergreen canopy, thick and rich, that consumed the light of day, converting it to itself. 

The Grove was surrounded by geological barriers. The sharp jagged crags, carved from the humbling movement of great glaciers in times past, forming sharp arêtes that cut through the sky and hanging valleys from which great waterfalls gushed the blood of the evergreen. In distant times, these mountains had spewed forth torrents of fiery magma, inundating the steep valleys and building mountain ranges that brushed the very clouds. Still, before that, they served as part of the sea and still contained the fossils to testify their heritage before they were thrust upwards out of their aquatic domain, into the very clouds. 

The distant snow capped peaks that littered the horizon, each one distinct in its character, guarded and protected the Grove from the others of the species that wished to dominate and change its form, but also posed a risk for with isolation, came specialization, and the Grove clung to the fabric of the planet, a breath away from extinction.

On this night the Grove was peaceful, the absence of the sun reducing its activity to a minimum as it contemplated its environment by starlight, enjoying the pale luster of the moon on its thick foliage and gaining pleasure in the cool breeze that inundated its rich canopy. It tried to ignore the movement of small rodents amongst its limbs that continuously irritated its rough bark. The clasping cold tendrils of a fungus desperately tried to sap the life from its very wood and succeeded for a time, until it remembered.

Its memories ingrained in its heartwood swept back through the previous centuries and accounted for every detail in the Groves life, the passage of hours, days and seasons and what it found scared it to the center of its being. It was cooling, the perpetual summer that it had experienced since its birth was drawing to an end, the warm days were disappearing, and the humid breeze now carried a touch of arctic chill. The sun seemed even more distant, its light and warmth dissipated as though the same depression that sapped the tree also drained the sun. The tree wondered whether it was the only one of its kind to realize what was occurring and comprehended that it was the most ancient, its memory stretching back far further than its closest cousins, who remained ignorant of what was to transpire. 

The Grove puzzled over its predicament, unable to fully grope the magnitude that this change would cause, though realizing on a shallow level, this change could only pose ill towards it and its cousins.

The continents moved with a pace so slow it made the death of mountains seem fast, though inexplicably they moved into new configurations, changing the flow of vast ocean currents and redistributing the suns heat through the globe. Through these new configurations, land bridges arose, allowing the movement of animals and plants between previously restricted places and isolating as many that could move. Other changes were also apparent though the scale of these changes far dwarfed even the movement of continents. These changes occurred in the celestial bodies surrounding the earth and proclaimed a strange eccentricity in the earth’s orbit, distancing the earth from the sun.  

Within the Grove all was as it should be. Though further south, ice was forming tens of kilometers thick on a continent previously covered in lush vegetation. Here the change was enormous as the humid tropical weather quickly cooled, the vegetation tried to fight back, desperately changing and adapting. The change was too fast and the trees died under the remorseless onslaught. Inundation with intense cold and subjected to freezing arctic winds, the landscape transformed into a frozen dead world that reflected vast amounts of heat, back into space.

The chill spread north, moving like the advancing wall of a titanic glacier, sending out its whispering signal to all in its path.

“I come. Beware.” it spoke, with the voice of the arctic wind rustling through the trees and the rumbling of moving ice, its wintry presence cutting the very air. 

The trees heeded its warning; even though it was too late. The very blood that flowed through their ancient limbs froze in the veins that supported them, sending icy shards deep into their heart wood. Their proud canopies froze and collapsed under the weight of ice, to shatter amongst the forest floor and their ancient spirits that had attested to the passage of so much time fled to the void, to be reunited with the future. 

The ice gradually grew, building up higher and higher still until it overflowed the valleys and capped the highest peaks, casting the land into perpetual winter to which there seemed no escape. All appeared to be lost, though a flutter of hope still flourished in those that moved ahead of the chill, towards warmer climates. Desperately migrating at the pace of generations. Others that were strong sheltered in isolated refuges, deep in the heart of cavernous valleys, sheltered microclimates that the chill was unable to reach with its icy claws, hardening themselves from the cold and desperately wishing to be free from their agony.

Winter came to the Grove slowly at first, the touch of a frost in the early morning casting the ground in a layer of ice, the whisper of a cold breeze on clear nights and the unfamiliar appearance of snow capped mountains. To the Grove, these changes meant little; only attesting to its prodigious strength and immovable spirit and for a time the Grove believed all would be well. 

Time passed and its passage could be counted with considerable ease, as it had never been done before. The wind grew stronger with each passing day, its touch all the more cruel, seeming to penetrate and violate with no remorse. The frosts thickened casting the ground with ice and the mountain snow moved deeper into the valleys, coating and transforming the land with its passionless iciness, removing the lands spirit to fight.

The young and infirm were first to go. Unable to cope with a climate that nature had not evolved for them. They slowly subdued to the depressing leeching of the cold until their untimely end, when they were transformed to living statues encased in ice. Some fled as is always the case, moving ahead of the storm front, where a slight pause could mean their erasure from the life tree. Some stood as the Grove did, their ancient strength defiant in the full force of the coming storm. Months passed and the callous wind still did not cease, if anything, its strength increased, seeming to grow off the despair its touch caused. 

The Grove watched with a kind of absent detachment the death of its cousins. Who were these creatures whom it called family, who it had watched grow and prosper under its canopy? Before, they were enemies who it tried to destroy by sapping their light and water, though now they were different, their naked blistered bark a testimony to the inevitable passage of time, their proud plumage reduced to dry brittle sticks. Deep in the Groves heart a feeling stirred, one that grew in awareness, a foreign feeling that’s name was sadness and it mourned for its lost kin before quickly stilling its heart, so that the despair could not set in. Though a watcher may have seen the crimson tear, thick with much needed nutrition, find its path down the course hard bark to the ground were it sat like a polished jewel as a testimony to the fallen, before being enveloped in snow.    

Change had also come to the mountains surrounding the Grove, no more were their sharp escarpments exposed naked to the sun, now they lay silent beneath the ice, a distant testimony to a forgotten season. Here the ice did its work, like a huge white monster it ate and abraded the solid rock with its massive weight, moving under the relentless force of gravity down the mountain side. The glaciers carved with great precision into the rock, the features that would attest to its passing, sending tons of powdered rock to cloud the mighty rivers that spewed forth from its mouth, its noise put fear into the heart of the landscape.     

Through the pain of lands betrayal, that sought to displace its inhabitants, the Grove still found beauty where none should have existed. The whiteness of the land, though passionless, was striking in its purity, seeming to hide any flaw from view. Ice crystals decorated every available surface, their mathematical geometry startling. The land, wreathed in silence as though trapped in a void, was breathtaking, and the distant rumbling of glaciers, awe inspiring. 

The Grove watched with passion long spent, the relentless change around it. Its being had set cold, like the sun in the distant sky and it prayed for relief. The earth that it had known and loved had collapsed around it and only now did it realize what it had lost. The Grove now stood alone, spared by some nasty trick of fate the destiny that had taken its cousins. As far as the eye could see the ice reigned supreme, here and there stumps broke through the snow as a eulogy to the fallen. The Grove felt more alone than it had in millennia.      

ODE TO THE FALLEN

Hope forgotten a rhythm unsung,

why should we die so young?

what was lost will soon be.

a forked branch grown, from the eternal tree.

To be cut and kindled and cast to the flame,

the cycle of life continues the same,

we live, we breathe, give and take,

our destiny fulfilled, on our dying day.

So small, so fragile, still put to the saw,

feeble life, feeble dreams, who wouldn’t ask for more?

The Grove retreated further into itself, distancing itself from the outside world. In the centuries to come this served as its only respite from the winter, allowing its spirit to carry on despite the overwhelming grief that surrounded it. Questing deeper into its being, the Grove discovered much about itself that had previously lain hidden. Its awareness, that had served it so well through the millennia, was put to a new and difficult purpose and became an invaluable tool in the times to come. 

THE WINTER GROVE

Utopia banished, cast from my soul,

a glimmer of warmth, no more do I know.

Cast asunder in a sea of black,

mountains, valleys holding me back.

Peace, tranquility the absence of pain,

forgotten so soon, to be reborn again.

Heaviness, slumber, as buoyant as stone. 

Trapped in a clone, which is my own.

A glimpse of the waking world filled my sight, 

something is wrong it should not be night.

A shroud of darkness as black as night,

blocking the living world from my sight.

Dead chunks of driftwood as my limbs,

a living puppet without strings.

Trapped in limbo, purgatory of the soul,

self induced chaos with no place to go.

A vision of madness at the edge of my mind

 trying to destroy all that is mine,

Thriving, writhing trying to get in,

an escape from reality please may it begin.

OF MIND

Creation of the mind and that of the universe progress together.

Here lies the greatest, though most insignificant duality.

Without the universe, the mind could not perceive it,

and without its perception, it would not exist.

The universe does not end in fire and darkness, but the minds material death

Vanity separates us from the void.

The whim of evolution makes us full, noble death reminds us that we aren’t.

The Grove was an organic being made from the very stuff of the universe, shaped and created through billions of years of formation and evolution. Its consciousness arose directly through the interaction of spirit and matter, a division so vast that the change-over between the two blurred into infinity and so became one. Its consciousness was unparallel in the plant kingdom, except for isolated stands, places of mysticism and worship spread sparingly through the continents. Its contemporaries possessed a similar, though less refined level of consciousness, which allowed them to monitor the flow of energy through the universe and to adapt and compensate to the balance, much as a rock would or any other innate object.

The Grove, an ancient being in its own right, descendent from those that had crept from their aquatic median 3.5 billion years ago, learnt humility in the centuries to come. No longer did it think itself the proud dominant creature in the forest, the one with the highest canopy and deepest roots, who by its nature changed the outcome of life around it. Now it realized that its position was much the same as the position that every being on the planet held, one of equal superiority. 

It comprehended its own limited senses, what could it possibly know of the snow, perhaps it was only acting on some higher instinct to which it had no control, why blame it, when it was part of the same system that supported itself. The glaciers that swamped the land, were they not in time to become responsible for the formation of soils that it depended on, did not the death of its cousins provide space for their progeny and nutrients for their growth?  

The Grove realized that its position on the planet depended on every other part and that it was only a link in a huge mechanism that lived and breathed with the same breath. It slowly contemplated the oneness of the universe and for once, not only its body, but also its soul harmonized with the universe and new peace.

The eons passed, and the Grove quested further into its being, discarding all the knowledge that had made it so arrogant, it realized that it knew nothing and so knew everything. At this point its spirit was trapped in time, while its body carried out its normal functions, oblivious to the world around it, though in total harmony with it. The tree that had stood for millennia became just a tree.

OF FLAME

Power moves in the form of the circle.

The sun came back slowly at first, its return witnessed with much trepidation as though its watchers were afraid it would appear, only to disappear. Its approach heralded a new era in the earth’s history, one that for a while would stand in the full warmth of day. The signs of its return where minimal at first, the slow melting of glacial ice at the valley bottoms unleashing much needed water into silty streams, and a lessening of the arctic breeze that had plagued the land for so very long. 

Life began to acknowledge summers return with more caution, the appearance of new buds, green with life, the call of a distant raven, echoing sharply through the valleys and the movement of small mammals in the scrub. 

Soon after summer had made its first appearance, larger signs became apparent that stood testimony to the long perpetuation of summer. The large valley glaciers retreated resentfully up the valley walls, shedding their rocky burdens into the streams below and revealing the signs of their work for all to see in the form of splendid peaks and sharp arêtes that skewered the sky. The sky’s cleared of snow, bearing clouds as though they had never been and in a valley hidden deep within the mountains the Grove breathed again.    

During the winter further north other changes had occurred, the ramifications of these changes would alter the landscape in much the same way that the ice had. 

The place was inhospitable to say the least, a barren landscape devoid of food and game to which an icy breeze constantly bombarded. Its surface was pitted with small lakes, frozen places of silence that moved at the whim of the wind. The scrub was low and sparse, providing neither shelter nor food to the travelers who sought to cross the desolate landscape. 

The sun above at times beat without mercy onto the land, drying and desiccating all that stood upon it, while at other times it would disappear for weeks, hidden by the stormy clouds and icy blizzards. 

The moon was the travelers only companion its waxing and waning a constant reminder of the passage of time. Its cold light at times spooking them and at others reassuring them, helping to guide themselves through the low land to which the sea seemed to constantly reclaim. 

These travelers were so foreign to the landscape, that even their speedy passage echoed ahead of them, conveyed by the land and relayed through its creatures, the whisper of fear and curiosity on the wind. These travelers were hominids, the predecessors of the aboriginals and they possessed an intelligence that was new to the land. An intelligence that was dangerous to the land. 

They hunted when they could, pursuing and trapping animals with their crude tools. They supplemented their meat diet with various berries and vegetables that the land offered. The aboriginals traveled for months, the approach of the sea and the hundreds of lakes slowing down their progress. Finally they arrived at their destination and began an occupation that would last 40 thousand years.

Time passed and the temperature warmed further, dislodging the last of the frosts occupation as it set about casting the land once again under its spell. Long hot days were the testimony of this epoch and more importantly long dry days that sapped the water from the very soil, returning very little of it back to the land. 

The sun governed much as a monarchy would, mercilessly taxing the land and keeping the water for itself. Far from the coast in the high country, things progressed far better; here the lands were consistently watered as though the sun showed some mercy, its long grasp unable to exert its full influence. Here the land was green, rich in the diversity that had returned with the departure of the cold, though its composition was considerably different. 

The broad leafed tropical plants that had co-existed within the landscape were no more; instead the land was dominated by cool climate conifers, ancient in age and origin, equally prodigious in strength. Deciduousness too had come to the land and its arrival cast the land into a thousand shades of gold during autumn’s departure, providing a welcome relief from the evergreens dominance.

The coming of summer caused a small jolt in the Groves consciousness, awaking it briefly before it cast itself back into the dark place. The Grove stood amongst its new counterparts, oblivious of their unique beauty and growing strength, so unaware in fact, that it failed to admire the beauty of its own new coat that towered high above everything. The Groves being still dwelt within the confines that winter had imposed. An exile that it had created to survive. A prison that both freed and imprisoned its soul. It knew nothing of the new visitors that the land had received, blatantly ignoring the whisper of their passage, sinking deeper into the uncaring darkness, free from the lands responsibilities. The Grove dreamt.

Excuse me; I fear that I must interrupt. No, I do not speak to you foolish human, go back to your petty short life and your insignificant worries. I must spend a moment with the Grove if his vanity would allow it, to perhaps clarify some of his thoughts on a particular matter and maybe to bring some life to his bleakness and a smile to the reader no matter how insignificant you are.

“Why, dear Grove, must you always know such pain? Do you not have sympathy for your adoring fans, who wish to read of butterflies dancing across green meadows, why must you relish in your self indulgent pity? Is their not a world out their, which can bring a warm expression to your vocabulary, can you at least try for your readers sake and for mine?”

The flame flickered, consuming the energy around it, hungrily lapping up the pure essence of the universe, altering and bending its infinite energy to perform and create new structures. Adding its light, to the total amount of light in the universe and sending the moment of its birth back into the past, so that the universe could compensate for its arrival. 

The flame was hungry. Its hunger could consume the heavens if it was given the chance. It strived desperately to consume all in its influence, trying to fill the emptiness inside it only realizing that time would have to cease for it to be full, and that all the energy in the universe wouldn’t slake its thirst. However it knew nothing else. Its existence was its goal. It knew no free will, its nature was given to the universe and the universe was its nature.

The flame flickered, tasting the air, searching for the elusive chemicals that it needed and converting them to itself in a flash of pure energy, sending those elements that it couldn’t have, as smoke into the heavens and heat into the air. The plants around it knew fear. What was this malicious creature that burnt so cruelly, that destroyed their living flesh and turned them into ash? They spent their pain to the uncaring heavens until their essence was transformed into new constituents and given a new purpose, to return to a new position in the circle of power.

The flames grew, engulfing new material, burning along the ground sending its heat as a wave to herald its approach. It converted the landscape with its hunger to a blackened land, devoid of life, which a dark cloud hung over, obscuring the heavens from view. The flame spread with the weather, dancing on the summer breeze eager for new places which it could warm with its fiery touch.    

The fires creator hung in the background allowing its tool to do its work. It watched the useless forests being converted into areas that would support new growth and allow the animals to which its diet depended prosper so they could be hunted. This land wasn’t so bad, it pondered.  

The forest communities of the low lands were the most effected by the flame, unused to its fiery touch and suffering the intolerable drought the sun had inflicted, they perished under the flames wicked power. The ancient rainforests relics from another time retreated into the valleys where the flame couldn’t reach, holding onto the sensitive micro-climates like a stronghold and fighting the flame with their earthly magic that allowed them to keep the flames at bay. The continual burning of the land altered its appearance dramatically; the dark enclosed forests gave way to sweeping grasslands, broken by the occasional tree, now rich in animal life for the eager hunters.

The eucalypt families flourished with the flame, their body and soul promoting fire where they grew. They formed a dark relationship that helped to proliferate the flames dominance and so the eucalypts became shunned, outcasts from the community made to suffer for their betrayal. Other groups joined them, siding with the flame, though still others much like the rainforest stood their stand, feverishly crowding the young seedlings that attempted to grow under their canopy, dooming them and their progeny to a short dark life, whilst ensuring by their survival the loss of the flames influence, in times to come. 

The battle in these parts was always feverish, moving like a tide between the influences of fire and rain. Sometimes the fire would advance into the canopy, changing the structure and allowing its followers to breach the forests defenses where they quickly germinated like silent assassins behind enemy lines. There they would wait, desperately hoping for the fire to advance before the forest trees once again claimed their light. At other times the rainforest would spread out its tendrils into the fires territory reclaiming the land that was rightfully it’s. During these times the rain helped to combat the flames spirit by keeping the land moist, allowing the slow rehabilitation of the rainforest. 

The aboriginals had unknowingly set up a new ecology by the use of the fire, changing and altering the previous vegetation systems to one that promoted fire and to one that demoted fire. Forever placing the factions on opposite sides of an infinite scale.

They would battle for the supremacy of the land, for ages to come.

OF LOVE

Deep within the Grove, something stirred as though awoken by a silent breeze. It floundered helplessly at first, fighting the call that had beckoned it, wishing only to return to the dark place where nothing mattered, but it was inexplicitly brought forth from the matter that had guarded and protected it. 

The scent on the breeze was like nothing that it had sensed before; it somehow shared the intolerable, though ecstatic touch, which the sun caused, though in other ways it was remotely different. The scent swept through the ancient smell of rotting vegetation like a knife to bombard the Groves senses, carousing its timber, speaking without words of things to come. 

The Grove ignored it, denying it the satisfaction of its touch and attention even though it ached for it. Its strength stood testimony to the fragrance that inundated it, distancing itself, retreating once again into the wood. Here in the safe place it could safely reflect on this strange phenomenon. Who was this intruder that assaulted its senses? Nothing in the Groves experience had prepared it for its seductive embrace and it rebuked itself for its weakness, for even here, the presence had form. 

Far from the Grove, a new being had been created. Plied skillfully by Mother Nature from the constituents of the earth and shaped by the passage of time. This being knew awareness, it too, like the Grove, was different on a molecular level. It shared little similarity to the trees around it, this small difference creating an immeasurable barrier between it and the future. It quested towards its surrounding cousins but was rejected. They wanted nothing to do with this young creature that stood so silently in their midst. Lonely, it pondered its future with despair. It was still young by the Groves standards, a bare infant lost in the woods of time, feebly trying to secure its place in the forest before its contemporaries destroyed it. Though vainly, it sent out its message with small hope.

The Groves annoyance at this intruder began to dissipate in the months ahead and instead it welcomed the brush of its distance consciousness against its own, familiarizing in the worth that the spirit bond transferred and although this creatures awareness was far less developed than its own, it did not impede the simple communication that the Grove so cherished. The feelings were primordial much closer to the sensation of a seed becoming encased in nurturing soil than the elegant words that the Grove could formulate to describe such a thing. 

Soon the Grove began to care, a feeling that had been absent since summer’s departure so very long ago. Often it would wait, anxious on those summer mornings when the sun would wake its high canopy from slumber, as it knew that soon its companion would awaken and send its first tentative touch into the forest in search of its singular consciousness. On those mornings the Grove would once again revisit the familiarity that the summer had brought it, before the coming of winter and it knew contentment again.   

One morning it sensed a change in its companion, one that heralded the approach of a new era in its companion’s life cycle and it knew a passion unlike any it felt before. 

The fire still hungered. It had burnt all of the low lands time and time again and had grown bored of the forests in this area. Long ago had it converted them to its cause, making them perpetual carriers of its spirit, always eager and waiting for its warm embrace. It still hungered for the rainforests, now there was a worthy adversary, an enemy to which the fire respected for its strength. Time and time again it had battled with this opponent and time and time again it had failed, though it grew warm with the satisfaction that it had sent the rainforests into hiding, places where it knew one day, it would come to claim. 

The flame looked to the hills, wanting desperately to conquer them too. Its touch had tasted the sweet rich flavor of the ancient pines that dwelt there, and it feverishly wished to taste their sweet nectar again. The sound of screams of pain, as their spirits escaped from their barks in a hiss of steam was pure bliss for the flame. Every time it had raced up the slopes towards the mountain, it had been thwarted by the rain that turned its proud golden plumage to steam and sent its soul to the void. Now, it felt confident. Its God, the sun, had been at work all year preparing the way for the flames coming, drying the landscape so it would require little for the flame to start and then God help those pines. It would feed until is unsuitable hunger had consumed all.

A presence hung in the air, heavy and ominous, creating stillness that was intangible because movement was indeed taking place. Monstrous clouds shaped like huge anvils drifting on silent wheels, took up strategic position in the sky above the sweeping heavens. Their movement was now and again accompanied by a distant rumbling that heralded the approach of the storm, warning all to take shelter or else they be destroyed by its might. The land was cloaked in darkness, the sun banished, momentarily unable to view the spectacle that would soon take place. The creatures with the will and ability to move sought shelter, while the trees and other such creatures prepared for the onslaught. 

Silence followed the approach and the land held its breath. The sky blossomed with the light that only the sun can give, this light though, was electricity. A pure sheet of energy that was rapidly relayed and conducted through the water molecules that hung in the air to ignite the very air with its might. Sending forth the sound of thunder at the hills of the land below. The earth shuddered, momentarily dazed and breathed again, only to be swept once again in lightning, illuminating the semi darkness with its inflorescence. 

The dark outline of a distant tree, head and shoulders above the rest of the forest seemed the storms target. The storm gathered its vast energy, channeling it through the air to this proud tree that sought to rise above its rivals, obliterating half its trunk in a shower of fiery sparks that cascaded in to the canopy below. The flame laughed gleefully once high like a maniac, before the rain lashed the ground with its fury.  

Given the opportunity of life, the flame was quick to do its work, feverishly taking a hold of the trees heart wood, mercilessly consuming despite the lashing of the rain, turning the wood into more of itself to perpetuate deeper into the trees core. It could taste the trees fear on the tip of its tongue and oh how sweet in tasted, never was there a finer aroma than that of fear, especially that which had lain dormant for a millennia. It spread itself out, battling the rain that sought to quench its thirst, to set fire to more trees, their ancient blood bubbling and steaming in their very veins as it claimed their souls. The fire consumed with out prejudice, an elementary force of nature that killed with out consciousness. 

Deeper in the forest amongst the trees a small life became aware of the smoke and was confused by the smell of this unfamiliar fragrance. Its deeper instinct spoke of fear as did a subliminal feeling in the air, conveyed through the evergreen canopy. It shuddered without warning, apprehension clotting its veins and it felt a new terror for the first time in its young life.   

Further still in the woods the Grove was jolted awake not by the smoke but by a different feeling, one that its senses were now well accustomed to, though instead of the warmth of desire that it would other wise feel instead, a feeling of fear had taken its place and despite its warm feelings towards this foreign life, it felt the first tendrils of apprehension sink into its heart wood. It wondered as to the cause of this feeling in its distant companion.

  The evening passed in this part of the forest without incident, the rain lashed at the canopy with the fury of the storm to be replaced with the comforting silence that always follows in the storms wake. With its senses well tuned to the environment, the Grove sensed a disturbance in the energy transfer amongst the trees, somewhere, something was drawing energy to it like an insatiable hole, slowly but surely consuming the life force that pervaded the forest. Its identity was heralded on the first whiff of smoke that was consumed hungrily by the Groves canopy. Instantly it was transported back to a distant place, locked away in its memory.   

It remembered eons ago, during its first few centuries on the planet that smell and the fear it caused, the distant scream of its cousins as they were consumed by the flame that danced with evil intent amongst their canopies. It had escaped the flame through fluke, a change in the wind that had spared its life, though it still remembered the penetrating touch of the flame as it sought desperately to infiltrate its course bark, and the horrible cloying aroma of wood smoke in the air obscuring all other senses. 

The Grove still bore the mark of that fire deep inside its trunk and it still caused some pain, a distant reminder of the flames fury. It punished itself remorselessly for allowing this being to get under its bark, for allowing it to care. The Grove had been old in comparison when the flame came, its bark tough and durable. Its unknown companion was only young and it would be swept away with remorseless ease by the flames advance.

Still sheltered from the fire the tree vainly tried to suppress its fear, gaining small comfort from the Groves consciousness that encompassed its own, trying to keep the darkness at bay, wrapping itself in the other so it would not feel so alone. It could feel the Grove closer than it otherwise could be, through purely spiritual terms, a distant presence, secured safely inside itself, waiting for its birth. It wondered whether the Grove was aware of this intimate bond, whether it knew it had progeny, soon to be awaken to the light of the world to carry its seed into the future on the tides of time.  

The fire came, desperate to change the future that the companion so wished for itself. At first it was an uncomfortable sensation along the limbs, one that at first only warmed the bark. Then, with the acrid taste of smoke the pain quickly grew, casting aside all other emotions in a blaze of fire. The Grove new of its companion’s plight though was reluctant to act, not because it did not care but because it cared too much. It selfishly held back, fearing the loss that this reunion could only bring, fearing the loss of its being with that of its companions. It hardened itself from its companion’s presence, strongly at first, though it knew deep inside that it could not do this thing. It could not spurn the love that this being had shown it and so embraced its friend with its ancient might, sheltering it from pain, that it took to itself, and offering her the solstice of summer memories. 

Time continued until the Grove felt the presence leave the earthly body, which was before lush and green, though now dry and brittle. It was sad for its departure, though it new that the soul would return and though it would be unrecognizable to the Grove, its presence would always be felt. 

Unbeknown to the Grove life did still prosper amongst the dry brittle sticks, a tiny life rich in potential that’s future was new and remarkable would perpetuate the Groves and its companions far into the future.

The Grove was sick of the loss the world brought to it, sick of the emptiness that love left in its wake and sick of the remorseless sun that shed its light oblivious to the Groves pain. It would not knowingly travel this perilous path again, it would not set itself up for the disappointment that anticipation can only bring and instead it would retreat into itself and regain its natural state, to live out its remaining days as a simple tree.

Ahh… here we go again, off to such a fine start in your narrative, surely the reader must have envisioned a happy ending, butterflies, green fields and the like? I know I certainly did, but yet again, fate brings its unwelcome presence to the show, dooming all happiness to failure. 

I ask you, implore you Grove, for the sake of your despairing reader, show a bit of poetic justice and skip a bit of your self-pity. Bring some light to the readers’ life; remember we are not all fortunate enough to be trees.

The eons passed in this state, the sun and the other heavenly bodies passing across the sky in their eternal cycle. The seasons passed leaving their mark on the land and the moon and sun chased each other across the sky. The flame settled into the land, becoming one with its followers and accepted by its enemies. The frost that had departed slept the sleep of millennia, waiting for its day. The aboriginal people became closely knit with the land and the land that had accepted them grudgingly embraced them as its own. 

The Grove carried on oblivious to the changes in itself and the world around it.

PASSAGE

The ships bow broke through the waves, sending an icy cold spray of sea water through the air where it gathered like frosty jewels on the distant deck. The ships passage was accompanied by the creaking of boards and rigging as the sea tried to sink the foreign object that floated on its surface. Distant muffled voices could be perceived, straining to be heard over the sound of the sea, as the sails billowed in the wake of the approaching storm. The ships passage was rough; at times it would shoot over the wave crests in a spray of white water, swiftly consuming the distances only to flounder desperately in the deep troughs that lay in the crests wake. 

The scene was illuminated by oil lanterns that rocked freely in the crisp wind, sending their feeble light into the approaching gloom, though providing some warmth for the sailors who hung desperately to the rigging, believing that they controlled the elements that tossed them to and fro so easily. The moon of course, sat above, illuminating the water with its cold light, creating a mosaic of reflection that continuously flickered in the twilight. The voices though controlled and strong, held that touch of fear and caution that only a strong sea can bring forth from the most experienced sailors. 

The ships huge sails stood above like a huge beacon to the wind. It tried to penetrate the sails with its might, only to be harnessed by the strong canvas and forced to do mans work. How much this peeved the mighty southern wind the sailors would never know, never before had the wind been harnessed so easily. The movement of pacific gulls on its breath was all it had ever known of manipulation and it wished to sink this ship, this abominable creation and teach the men a lesson in strength, to watch the ship sink into its aqueous form in the depths below, where it would provide company for the fish. 

The time was 1492, an era that would see the spread of the British empire through the globe, desperately seeking land in which to relocate their convict burden. Claiming sovereignty to all lands that remained unoccupied and claiming the slaves of the sons of God to themselves. 

These times were tough years for the men who traveled the ocean road, traveling into distant uncharted waters in search of land. For their King, they battled all the sea had to offer, the storms that were so prevalent around the Cape Of Good Horn, the smooth passage of the mighty trade winds and the dreaded doldrums, where time would be cast aside and the boat and its crew left to rot. These men were strong, conditioned by the sea and the salt, aware of the oceans moods and movements, though never had they experienced anything like the icy grip of the southern ocean. 

A man stout of heart and mind, whose very strength seemed to hold the ship and its crew together captained the ship. His faith in the man-made object, that battled the might of the earth unshakable and his faith in the crew to which he had watched grow into a single tight knit organism over the last eighteen months, unwavering. He knew that victory was close at hand and if they could weather this last storm, the distant coast on the horizon would be claimed by the King of England, long live his name, and finally, after months at sea the crew could find the welcoming feel of land under their feet. 

The cliffs that were now coming into sight were monstrous, rising from the ocean like a wall that was constantly bombarded by the oceans might. The ship surged towards these rocks, at times it seemed inevitable that it would be crushed upon the rocks that protruded from the angry waters, only to be turned around by the skillful hand of the sailors. Whether the captain named this island for his distant Duchess or whether he fathomed a deeper meaning in the name will never be known, but from that day forth the land situated at the bottom of the world, surrounded by cold seas and high cliffs would be named, Van Diemens Land. 

OF EVIL

The Grove was not the only being to survive the time of frost and the time of fire. Others of its kind lived on. Some had retreated into themselves, distancing themselves from the earth, becoming silent sentiment beings that neither comprehended nor cared about the world around them. Their souls changing silently to wood, the movement of the seasons becoming more distant, the changes in the weather little more than the brush against their silent consciousness and their awareness fading slowly to a small spark, smothered by their absentmindedness. 

These beings, called the silent ones by the forest and the others, were old. Some would say as old as the earth. Their appearance was a thin disguise for their true nature, that even they had forgotten. They appeared as other trees, cloaked in obscurity so they could manipulate events around them, silently using their ancient powers to protect their heritage and their home until time overlooked them. At times they would awaken as though from a deep sleep to look upon the world that had forgotten them, gazing with little comprehension at this new place that had transformed so silently around them. Feeling distanced and alienated, they quickly succumbed to the sleep of ages until they no more had the power to rise.

Others like the Grove held onto their consciousness, afraid to become silent and uncaring, afraid to give up their responsibility as watchers, their only purpose, their only salvation from spiritual death. These beings were wise, much like the Grove, taking from their environment their personality, absorbing the world around them, gaining feelings and emotions from the events that cascaded around their immovable beings, giving them strength and identity to go on. 

One such as this dwelled in a place of darkness, forgotten was the touch of the sun on its ancient canopy, no more could it remember the light. Its soul was darkness, a perennial evil that pulsated with malignant intent, sending its message into the forest on the wings of demons. 

Its character was frightful, a twisted remnant of its former identity, trapped within the ancient prison of its material self. Its shape seemed warped by the bitterness in its soul, its leaves opaque, appearing to trap the sparse light in the atmosphere and then turning and transforming it into darkness. Its limbs were far more ancient and gnarled than they should have otherwise looked, gaining a perverse insight into the beings soul. 

The ground around this natural atrocity was blackened and withered as though nothing would live within its all-encompassing shadow. The trees in its vicinity blackened and died, serving as a forest of dead wood that hid it from view. The animals shunned this place of evil, only the birds of carrion finding acceptance within its canopy, their eyes peering from its depths with evil intent. The tree stood and its name was Nasaguagu, meaning darkness in the language of the trees, its purpose was unknown though it served the powers of chaos and disorder, always striving to break the fragile balance of nature that encompassed the forest. 

For a time, long ago, Nasaguagu had been such as the Grove. A being of wisdom and good magic, an integral within the forest and a part of its natural harmony until its being slowly changed, taking on a new identity. The animosity of winter and the lands disregard for its creatures shaping its being into a twisted bitter creature that shunned happiness and daylight. The tree began to harvest the darkness as others trees harvested the light, finding acceptance under a starlit sky and an impassionate moon, sleeping through the sunlit days, afraid and astringent. It would awaken to the world at twilight when the sun had left the sky, reclaiming its kingdom of night to which it was supreme ruler and sovereign.

Nasaguagu had many names, some were given to it by the aborigines, the dark skinned race that moved along the forest corridors naked and fearless whom occasionally dared to wander amongst its canopy. Occasionally they would take a limb for the evil power that it bestowed upon its user. Nasaguagu would allow this small breach of etiquette, just for the pain that it would cause the user and the victim of the foul sorcery that it could bring forth, for this only increased disharmony in the land which made Nasaguagu pleased.

The white people that had traveled to these distant shores knew too of Nasaguagu. Their bones littered the ground below, their reason and intellect unable to grasp the danger of its being until it was far too late. 

During the night it would promote disharmony with its powerful consciousness, sending its message into the hearts of the creatures that pervaded the forest, begging them to come under its canopy where they would die from despair, their souls and bodies nurturing its being as they rotted in the soil below. 

It found Man to be a particularly worthy audience, always eager to listen to its call and unable through detached curiosity and warped imagination to turn from its sweet song. They would come stumbling through the forest, dazed and confused, disillusioned by the forest and its dark magic willing to give up their souls to the trees hunger. Other times it would let them live, though implanted deep within their consciousness it would leave its taunt.

“Destroy me, destroy us, walk amongst the forest, it’s your tool use it as such.”

Man would listen, he would take up his tools and destroy the forest, banish the harmony, remove the balance and Nasaguagu knew pleasure.    

Nasaguagu lived in a twilight world, partitioned from its brothers and forever at war with his counterparts. It wished to see them removed from the earth, even if it would mean the death of itself and wished to see the earth suffer as he had. Righteous victory was all he strived for. 

When it heard the boy and his instrument it knew anger, the notes were anathema to it, being poison for its dark soul and it wished to silence them, like it wished to silence no other. They spun crazily around its being, penetrating into its soul like wicked knives that brought the memories back, the memories that it had so closely guarded. 

It sought the dark magic that was its own to command, calling forth the putrid incarnations that would see this boy rotting in the ground below, his instrument of the trees blackening and crumbling amongst the earth. Though no matter how it strived, it could not muster the boy’s will, could not call him to his doom, something powerful protected him, something as ancient and potent as itself. And from the instrument came a taunt, a taunt that was purely unfamiliar, man and plant woven together into a dense spiritual fabric that defied all reason though held some power. It was to this that its resentment rose. 

What creature could manipulate the stuff of the universe into such a potent talisman? Why would a simple boy have brought it forth from the lands of man into the deep dark twilight world of Nasaguagu? It hated this boy, its inability to destroy this creature only fueling its animosity. How it wished to silence this song, to let silence reign supreme on the earth to which the tree of the apocalypse should so be named, the bringer of silence. 

The Grove was another he detested; even now he could feel its distant consciousness reaching through space to protect the boy from Nasaguagu’s darkness, sliding gracefully into the boys sub consciousness, leading him silently from Nasaguagu’s grasp. The Grove was the epitome of what Nasaguagu detested. So much acceptance and harmony woven into a single being made Nasaguagu retch, the goodness was sickening. How Nasaguagu wished the Grove had died so long ago in that fire that Nasaguagu had promoted, how the smell of the Groves burning would have brought a small portion of happiness to its cold heart. 

Nasaguagu watched with detached rage the boy’s departure, though silently, with all the cunning and skill that its spirit could muster, Nasaguagu set a seed within the boys soul. A dark seed that would cause ruin and battle against the Groves goodness designed to hopefully doom the link between man and plant that should never have been.

The Grove of course knew of Nasaguagu, knew of its darkness and hatred. The Grove also knew that this hatred would grow and attract others sympathetic to the dark ones, that’s why the boy had come to redeem the purity of the forest. Long ago the Grove had made a summoning, conveyed upon the life force of the earth, transported through every living creature like a shallow wave or vibration, it had found its way north to the old world and a creature old, though new to the Grove, had distantly answered his summons. The creature had spent a time with the Grove and subsequently been sent to find this boy that now trespassed silent roads and oaken corridors at the Groves call. The Grove silently thanked his old friend and hoped that he had found the peace that he rightly deserved. 

OF MUSIC

Nothing has an independent reality and it is only through interaction that its nature can be perceived. The perception phenomenon interface is such a connection and through this gateway our reality is formed, this is not the true reality, though it appears to be so.

A million minds,

create a million worlds,

from a single moment.

The notes were pure and magical and they spoke to the trees in their language, whispering through the green corridors, echoing amongst the immense halls and finding acceptance in a silent audience. The notes spoke of the trees spirit, the fall of autumn leaves, the deep green of new buds and the comfort of winter snow. They mirrored all those things that humans and trees find in common, a narrow bridge spanning two kingdoms, the kingdom of man and the kingdom of tree that allowed for a gateway of perception between both. 

The notes were at times whimsical, a joyous melody that had the falling leaves dancing in the air, as the light of day reflected off of the thousands of shades of gold they possessed. At other times they were deep, mournful and ominous, seeming to hug the ground and the trees, the sound barely perceptible above the feelings they conveyed. Then there were the times the notes cascaded through the air, an endless melody reverting back into itself in seemingly less disorder. 

The forest welcomed this deluge, as did the forests creatures, which often raised their senses to the air to catch the melodies passage as it accompanied their daily routines, lending its feeling to the most mundane duties. The sound originated from an instrument crafted by the hands of man, beautifully woven from the ingredients of the earth and forged with all the care that nature was able to plant into all of its creatures. 

Its player was human though one could be fooled into thinking the opposite, the trees surely believed so, as did the animals. Surely a human, especially a white one, could not possess the affinity to the forest that the notes conveyed. Surely chlorophyll must run inside its veins instead of blood. 

The creature was indeed human, one of those rare ones to which a new perception is bestowed and channeled through its matter to be awoken to the world. This creature of the trees was young, even by human standards, a child at best, nestled peacefully amongst the pines whose age and size dwarfed it. He was content in the autumn sunshine that was filtered through the canopy and comfortable on the ancient roots that hugged the land, oblivious to his silent audience. The child played on, transforming its senses into new ones, exploring the infinity of metaphors that were at his disposal and bestowing its metaphors upon the creatures that heard it, who then transformed then into their own. 

The boy was content, his belly full of blue berry muffins that his grandmother had made and the sun slowly sent him to sleep with its caress, even then shaping the notes to fit a new metaphor. The morning had been an active one, up at dawn to feed the chooks and collect the eggs, then off to check the draft horses in the top paddock in case they needed feed. After a swift breakfast it had been out the back door and up into the mountains for an afternoon of exploring. 

Climbing the jagged crags with a child’s abandonment and searching through the dense forests in the hope of finding a treasure that nature had discarded as a gift. The child had indeed found one, nestled amongst the damp moss and ferns the child had stumbled across a tigers skull, half hidden by lichen, its feline shape exposing its identity, it now sat beside the boy, forgotten momentarily in the suns warmth. 

The boy wanted to explore further, never before had he quested this far from home and he was eager to explore the deep forests that were surrounded by such high mountains. This area had remained relatively untouched by the sons of god who deemed it a foreign and inhospitable place, though would occasionally plunder it for the valuable timber that it offered. The child had claimed this place as his own, making himself sovereign and ruler of the place between the crags. In his imagination the land was converted to a place of elder creatures and fairies, little did the boy know how true his imagination was.

The boy woke when the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the cold sent its first tentative touch into the valleys air. The boy had lost track of time in this seemingly timeless place and when he looked around it was as he feared. Which way was home?

In the hours before twilight, the land was transformed into an ominous place, no more did the sun sparkle on the heavy dew or amongst the golden leaved trees, instead the woods appeared foreign and foreboding. The boy was not going to give up and with the courage that only the ignorant can possess, he began what he believed to be his way home.   

Deeper and deeper still into the woods did the boys path take him, under the ancient canopies did he travel and through the old corridors did he go. Traversing silent cross roads unmarked by sign or post and passing through doors of both spirit and wood that opened at his touch. The moon was his only companion, its light filtered by the dense canopy onto the ground below. The boy followed the moonlit path and it led him where it may. 

Still deeper did the path go and the boy knew, deep in his heart, this was wrong, this was not the way, though curiosity had him and it was his master. The woods grew older, the trees more crooked and bent by the winds of time. Faces seemed to peer from the trunks in all manor of expression, some ghastly, some beautiful, all seemingly to possess an alien splendor that was lost to the outside world. No more were the cathedral like walls of the valley visible, instead in their place stood the bowels of the evergreen. No more did animals folic in the undergrowth, instead the silence was that of the evergreen. The place was the Grove and the boy knew fear.

The Grove comprehended the intruder in its domain and knew a puzzlement that was foreign to its thoughts. Although it had seen these humanoid creatures from a distance as they wisely skirted its borders, this one was different. It was white, as white as virgin snow, it wore all manner of strange garments that cloaked its ugly form from view and carried a strange instrument in its hand as though it were some sort of talisman, to ward of evil spirits. 

The expression on this beings face was quite beyond words, resting somewhere between fear and awe and with a start the Grove realized that it must be the cause of this strange expression and knew such pride that its very branches shook in delightful pleasure. It had been so very long since something had admired its person and it had nearly forgotten how truly splendid it looked.

In fact, from the boys perspective, the Grove appeared to be a thing from a fairy tale, something that may very well come alive and strike up a conversation, discussing the attributes of the gramophone to human society. It was just as likely to reach down and gobble him up, never to be seen again. The Groves bark appeared as burnished silver that sparkled magically in the moonlight, its canopy was as rich and green as it ever had been and its size was truly immense, seeming to stretch up to the very moon. 

The boy was so humbled that he very nearly sank to his knees in worship. The ground was riddled with huge roots that looked as though they may come alive and constrict the life out of him if he failed to run as fast as his little legs would carry him in the opposite direction, where ever that was. The boy was very much scared though also, faintly curious.

The Grove in this time had overcome a small part of its bewilderment and shaken off a small portion of vanity, allowing it to see the situation for what it was. Here was a little boy lost in the woods, in the middle of a cold dark night and what could it do? 

Nothing.

For a creature whose birth equaled that of the mountains, it might as well have been a mountain. It could not move, talk, nor communicate with this being. No wonder people thought plants were so dumb and all this time it had believed that they were just in awe of it.

The boy had also overcome some of his fear, just enough to reach up and stroke one of the lower branches, marveling at the smoothness and the luster of the bark. With a mischievous grin, despite the overwhelming despair of the situation, he leapt up into the branch where he sat, cradled against the ancient trunk.      

The Grove was rather startled at this blatant behavior, though oddly pleased. It waved aside the lack of respect that the gesture imparted for the warmth that the boys affection created and had been so distant from the Groves heart. It had been so long so very long since it had felt the warmth of another against its consciousness and it marveled foolishly in its affection. The boy found comfort momentarily in the trees physical embrace that supported him so far above the forest floor and gave him a view of the forest foreign to the eyes of man. Though, the moment was short lived. 

Reality came crashing down onto his young shoulders with all the abruptness of a falling tree limb in a still forest. The boy was lost; it was dark and his parents knew not where he was, though brave and stout of heart as any young lad, he began to weep mournfully, a sound strange and foreign to the forest. The boy’s tears fell to the ancient bark below that seemed so tough and resistant, belying its true nature in an instant. 

The Grove knew not what this sound was, spoken through foreign organsk produced by a foreign heart, though it was familiar with his feeling only too well. Distant memories of its own consciousness tried to break through the walls that kept them at bay and it knew pity in an instant. The Grove without meaning too reached out, surrounding the young heart with its warmth and the boy leant his head back into the crook of the branch to sleep the sleep of the evergreen.

The Grove awoke as startled as it had ever been in its long life. What was this sound? What was this presence? It realized that the sound arose from the boy, or more truly, the strange object that it played, and wondered remotely at the fate that had brought him to its being. It pondered the countless moves the universe had made in order to make this meeting, a reality. How could a son of man so removed from the earth’s spirit, know the spirit of the tree; the soul of the forest; the heart of the land? 

The music shared through the spirit bond transported the Grove and the boy back into time, transforming memories into music, the boy acting as a conduit for the Groves happiness and pain. The boy and the Grove shared memories of endless summer. The despair of silent winters, of spirit and flame and love lost. They quested together through the ages, the music a tool for their passage, a familiar force turning music into reason. 

Slowly, the memories became less painful, their touch not as sharp, as the boy and the Grove shared the pain, shedding new light on the memories and for once it was able to revisit its beloved with no remorse.

The bond shared between the kingdom of man and that of tree allowed for no misinterpretation. The language transcended spoken word and made its message pure to each. The boy found a kinship with the Grove unlike any he had found with gods creatures, its ancient wisdom far kinder than a blazing fire on a cold winters eve, its strength greater than that of his fathers hands and its love and understanding equal to that of his grandmothers. The Grove found comfort and enjoyment in the young mind, marveling at the keen wit and insatiable curiosity that was new to it, being so old and the innocence so pure and the warmth and closeness that made it feel needed and wanted.      

Abruptly the bond was shattered, leaving the boy muddled and dazed. The Grove retreated into itself becoming once more, just a tree. The breaking of the bond heralded the approach of voices of distant men, their calls and cries echoing unnaturally through the forest. At first they appeared as garble to the boy, strange primitive sounds that conveyed as much as they hid, finding neither meaning nor familiarity in these strange sounds. The boy at once knew that he should flee this place, its discovery would be sacrilege akin to that which caused the fall of man. The thought of mans hands and mind finding the place was anathema to the boy and he ran from the Grove, desperate to put distance between the Grove and them. 

He came across his relatives, his kin and wondered briefly at how strange they looked, how removed from the forest around them they were, before his thoughts were drowned by the sounds of joy and happiness because of his discovery. 

Before the men took him back under their fold he felt a presence beside his mind, words echoing against his mind.

“Farewell, brother.” 

OF MAN OF CHANGE

What nature divides, the spirit unites,

and what nature unites, the spirit divides,

as one reflects the other and the other reflects one.

The days following the boys return were spent in a delirium that the village doctor was unable to break. A fever had taken the boys mind and left his body convulsing desperately against the sweaty sheets that wrapped his body. In those days he spoke words that were lost on those that heard them, mumbo jumbo that they dismissed as the ravings of one gone mad, words of talking trees and living forests that denied all reason. 

His parents were desperately distressed and at times feared for the boys sanity, the only thing that seemed to bring him comfort was the musical instrument that a traveling minstrel had given him as a gift. It remained clutched desperately in the boys hand as though it were his only link to the waking world. Soon the fever passed and the settlements world was returned to some resemblance of order. Though they would forever talk of the boy, behind cupped hands, as the wild one. 

Time passed quickly for the boy as his mind unavoidably distanced itself from the events that transpired during that long autumn day, finding solitude and acceptance once again in the world of man and all the mundane duties that this world offered. At times those events would surface, seemingly to clarify thought and reason, or to confuse it depending on the perception. During those times the boy would often be found gazing out into the mountains, looking both out and in to find the elusive path that quickly evaporated like mist with the coming of the morning. 

The boy was forbidden to ever venture out alone, given task after task to prevent him from leaving the settlement. Whenever escape was possible it was fleeting and permitted only a small venture into the woods. At times the boy would often feel a presence intruding on his mind, offering him the solitude of the forests canopy and the silence of the ancient woods. However the presence was weak, and was swamped by the sound of conversation and the constant bustle of life. 

The settlement was growing, becoming prosperous from the minerals and woods that this land offered, gaining in population from the rich source of migrants that other lands offered. It spread into the hills at first, claiming the forests of the rich fertile valleys and converting them to pasture. The woods were transported by bullock to distant places, their souls laid to rest on foreign shores. The pastures supported the cattle, who with their hard remorseless hooves quickly trampled the ground underfoot, causing great erosion problems for the ignorant farmers who sought to convert the land into their beloved Europe. 

The boy had put aside his instrument of the trees, no longer were the sweet melodies heard drifting over the countryside, instead they were banished to a forgotten place by his parents who before had barely accepted his tunes, and now detested them with all their heart. They found no sense or reason in the tunes and thought them damaging to the heart of a young settler who spent too much time daydreaming. 

The mountains always remained aloft, looking over the fast pace of man with disgust and contempt, safe in their strength and ruggedness, their timeless spirits winking only once for every passage of human life that was lost before them. The pines were not so lucky, those named King Billy and Huon Pine the first to be abused by man in its ceaseless advancement, turned into new boats that allowed for greater control of the land and sea. The rate of change was phenomenal, never had the land known such a pace. The times of frost and flame dulled in comparison, their trials and tributes shadowed by the deforestation and mineral extraction that scarred the land so very deeply. 

The boy was at the centre of this turmoil, brought up by his farming parents who used the land as a tool. This lifestyle was thrust upon him with all the tact of an avalanche and his spirit shaped so long ago by the Grove, was quickly transformed in its absence.    

The boy turned a man and with the coming of age came a mans responsibilities, thrust upon him by a settlement that’s goal was growth and expansion. The ideals of the community quickly came to dominate his thoughts and reasons, progress was the key and all other goals paled in its pursuit. 

The mornings were spent gathering the cattle from the high meadows where they grazed during the summer. This task, though arduous, gave the man a chance to escape the confines of the village, to once again appreciate the mountain country that offered freedom to his thoughts. The cattle were often given free range, the natural barrier of the mountains offering the only boundary to their escape and the task of rounding them often took the most part of the morning. It was at these times especially as the sun crested the distant crags that the man felt the familiar pull on his consciousness, a beckoning that he was at a loss to ignore. However with the coming of manhood and all the other responsibilities that clouded his mind he found it easier to ignore, treating it as an illness or affliction that needed to be banished from his mind. 

The afternoons were spent in the mill, working beside his father, operating the huge saws that turned the fruit of the forests into useful material, The timber served a wide range of purposes in the growing village. This work was often arduous and extremely hard, the environment noisy and far removed from the surrounding mountains. The man began to appreciate the work, finding pride in the transformation that the mill produced and the companionship of the other loggers to whom he became close to. 

The evenings were his and as often as not, they were spent in the local tavern, listening to the stories of the first settlers and drinking beer, much to the disgrace of his mother and the amusement and pride of his father. He began to find acceptance in these people from whom he learnt his trade. Their constant muttering about the old days, when the land was untamed and all that was needed was a strong arm and a will and anything could be achieved combined with the constant smell of tobacco smoke that accompanied them was always a comfort, as was the smell of cheap whisky on their breaths. 

The men of the community accepted him as his fathers son, though they were wary of him, his silence and demur foreign. They failed to understand the deep affinity he shared with the land, while not always obvious, spooked then on a very primitive level. It may have been the unnerving way that he trod the forests, as sure footed as any night creature, never tripping or stumbling on the occasional roots, the way that he could predict the weather with accuracy that far surpassed the wisest bushman or his foresight and knowledge when it came to tracking cattle amongst the trees, as though the trees told of their passage. 

Some evenings were spent alone in solitude, a contentment that helped to balance the hectic pace of life, allowing for the absorption and reflection that the countryside offered. 

The morning intruded on his dreams, the sun piercing the thin veil that separated the conscious and subconscious mind, sending the dream retreating back into itself to wallow desperately on the edge of understanding, only to be banished into oblivion. The memory faded as the light grew and once again the man rallied desperately against the intruder that kept him a fingers breath away from understanding. Vast images tumbling like a kaleidoscope against his minds eye in a thousands shades of green. 

The dream always came with the sun and seemed to grow in strength each day, battering his feeble barriers aside, casting a message that he was at a loss to interpret. At times he worried for his very sanity, desperately hiding it for fear that his parents would find out and worry that the old sickness had enveloped him, as it had done when he was found in the forest that day so long ago. The morning light brought with it all the responsibilities of the day ahead and the man was quick to rise to greet them, hoping that they would occupy his mind and cast aside the dreams and all they stood for.

Breakfast was brief simplicity in itself, no more than fuel for the day ahead, the mornings conversation little more than the annoying nattering of insects in the summer breeze, at best ignored, the familiar clatter of the kitchen seeming to jar loose even the simplest thought. Escape was made through the back door with little more than a nod of farewell to his parents, only pausing momentarily on some hidden whim to grab his instrument, discarded so long ago. Pocketing it quickly, less his parents miss its absence and then it was a long hike up into the valley steeps where peace and solitude reigned supreme. 

The sun had only gained the crags rim as the man neared the valley summit where the cattle grazed. The familiar sight of the cows against the forest canopy was absent and in its place the valley greens lay empty, the cattle must have escaped he envisioned with dread. The nights storm probably spooking them into the forest in desperate search of shelter, they may have traveled miles in the hours before day break, lost amongst the ancient pines, what should he do? 

To travel back down the valley would waste precious day light hours which were sadly lacking at this time of year, though to search by himself was foolishly hardy at this time of year, a blizzard could sweep in from the south with only a moments notice, obscuring the sun and the earth from view in seconds. Despite the odds his decision was made, he would search alone and with little more than a backwards glance, he disappeared amongst the evergreen. 

To transcend time and the meaningless moment, to return to a place trapped within the minds imagination and to strive for an instant, lost upon the seas of time whose identity is barely recognizable. To dream and requiem that which is lost, only to find it anew within the waking world. This is what happened to the man who became a boy as he stepped from the world of man, into the world of the evergreen. His senses were quickly overcome by the senses of the trees, his thoughts becoming once again that of the trees, as his spirit found its home once again with the trees. His guard formed from the attributes of a distant civilization was lost amongst the power of the forest, swept aside by a primitive force far older than man himself and his soul was laid bare to the whim of the elements. 

He traveled freely through the trees, searching vainly for a presence that his soul would recognize. Forgotten were the cattle, the tools of man. Let them roam, let them know too, the freedom that he felt, let them know for once, the feeling of independence that came with out mans restrictions. 

He traveled much as he had done so many years ago; his mans legs eating up the distances as his child’s legs never could, though his mans perception still at a loss as to how to deal with the forests amenity. He came suddenly to a glade, a place of perceptions birth, which his memory recollected from some distant place and he knew that he had lounged here all those years ago in the comfort and contentment that the forest gave so freely. Sure enough amongst the ferns and lichens sat a symbol of a forgotten age, his treasure, a distant talisman. A tigers skull. 

He picked up the skull, holding it to his breast as the memories flooded back. He felt such loss that he wept. He knew that he must find his brother who had quested for him so feverishly in the years gone by, vainly trying to find within him a spark to ignite his lost love. He left with the conviction that he must do this thing, traveling deeper into the trees until he became lost from sight.    

The forest took him under its canopy, drowning his senses with its earthly magic so that he only wished that he could give some of its magic back. Remembering the instrument, he once again took the music from his soul, transforming it into matter, the music was unleashed upon the world with all its elemental abandon. Spewing forth like a river from the heart that inundated the forest with its enchantment.

OF PHILOSOPHY

One is all and all is one.

Like the convergence of two mighty rivers flowing from a distant mountain, the Groves and the boy’s consciousness surged towards each other, desperately eager to combine their waters into a single awareness. The forests served as mighty walls, shaping and molding their passage, drawing them inexplicitly closer together. When their awareness’s finally met through the infinite space of matter that separated them, they were already one.

They welcomed each other without words, silence conveying more in that single moment than a volume of expressions, though if their thoughts were to be given meaning then they would speak of contentment and love. The Grove bespoke the changes in its son of the trees, though still as ugly as ever the spindly limbs that had clutched at it so feebly so many years ago had developed into fine strong limbs, rich with the vigor of youth, his height had also increased markedly, the branch that he had perched in so many years ago now reaching to shoulder level, a distant testament to the rapid change of man, though for all the change in the boy, the Grove had changed not at all. 

The Grove did not need to catch up on the boys life, he had watched with sadness though some pride the development of the boys life in the community. It had seen the boys sins against its brothers and itself, but also the strength that he kept aside in the wake of the development, always caring for its brothers, minimizing their pain and keeping the link that he shared unconsciously within him.

For the boy, rejoining with the Grove brought the pain of his betrayal to the surface. How could he have so recklessly embraced the settlements ideals after all the Grove had tried to instill in him?  How could he have betrayed his brothers with whom he shared so much? The boy wept in self-pity for his lost innocence. His only comfort, the Groves unwavering grace that forgave with out consideration.

The world inevitably passed by as the Grove and the boy became once more familiar with each other, though something stopped them from forming the same connection that they had shared before. They were both consciously aware of this barrier, though they tried hard to ignore it. 

Its birth was formed in the settlement of man, in all those years when the Grove was absent, forged in the cradle of civilization that rejected so strongly the natural world. It was given power in the mill where the forest was transformed, given a name in the heat of the forge that turned the earth to metal and transported to the Grove in the mind of the boy, allowing the Grove a small taste of what it is to be purely human. This barrier was undoubtedly the cause of the argument that was soon to come. 

The Grove failed to admit mans place within the natural world, believing that they excluded themselves from it through their destructive nature. The Grove could not comprehend a god or force that would give birth to such creatures and expect them to live in harmony with the earth. Time and time again the Grove had witnessed the destruction caused by man and his machines, the relentless and irresponsible remorseless change, that followed man like a cancer.

Please dear Grove, have some pity on us feeble humans, we who are not endowed with your great strength and charisma, your infinite knowledge and patience (when ever talking to a tree always count on vanity as a tool. For one as vain as the Grove, oh, what a tool it is). Can we help that we are brief sparks, that we die so suddenly and that we must achieve so much in the time we have. Wouldn’t you, if you were removed from the fate of generations? And please remember that you look from the perspective of millennia, everything must seem fast and destructive from this time frame.

The boy tried to reason with the Grove, standing up for his species, as he never thought he would.

“Why does the change that man brings not equal that of the mighty glaciers and fires that plague the land? Why should you, a creature of the trees, have the right to judge? You who shape the world around you with your every breath, you who condemn your siblings to death as you steal their light, and you who so long ago accepted the notion of equal superiority over gods creatures?”  

The Grove rallied in the face of these accusations. “What does man know of the land except that which he converts to his cause? What does man know of harmony and of spirit? The human mind does not fully comprehend the universes single breath”. 

The boy raged. “How can I answer such accusations but by pointing towards your own nature, do you not take from the soil its nutrients and from the land its water? Would you stop if only your nature allowed you to so that the land could survive? I think not.”

The Grove was taken aback by these accusations and fumed silently to itself, though still even then, admiring the boy’s sharp wit. 

“This is different.” the Grove rallied. “The forest is a mighty organism, dependent on each component to survive, from the tinniest bacteria to the mighty trees such as myself, we all play our part in the life that pervades the forest. Humans are different they remain outside this system.”

The boy tried to reason with the Grove. ”But are not the humans subject to the system that revolves around them, do they not depend on the air, water and land? Are they not made to suffer when they overuse, as you are in times of drought? We are the same you and I, plant and man. We do as our natures tell us to do, and that is to survive, even if that means lying to ourselves, convincing and justifying what we believe is right just so we can go on, even though that righteousness is of our own creation, a part of the essence of whom we are as much a lie, as it is the truth.”

The debate continued and the gap grew. Finally, through the advent of language and the spoken word, the two kingdoms that of man and that of plant found differences in their perception. The Grove would unwillingly admit that humans shared the same affinity with the earth that the Grove did, whether it was an opinion formed through the hurt that man had caused it and its cousins or as subjective as any human opinion, none could say, but its birth was long ago and none could convince it otherwise.

The boy felt the loss keenly and for once he knew what it was like to be purely human, removed from the evergreen on the basis of a simple opinion of it and its species. Forever cast aside from Mother Nature by the one that he most respected.

The parting was hard for them both, though it inevitably had to occur. The bridge that spanned their consciousnesses slowly crumbled and neither would admit fault to its ruin. Was it the use of spoken word, or confused and clarified thoughts that broke the bridge, or just the realization by the boy that the world was not the fairytale that the Grove thought it to be, the clear distinction of good and evil blurred by reality, none could say. 

On a cold winters morning, when frost shimmered lightly on the Groves canopy and the air was crisp and fresh, the Grove and the boy made their parting promises. They promised to reunite in the future, though neither believed that they would. Their farewell was saddening, each had given a part of themselves freely to each other and that sharing was the hub on which their sadness stemmed, for to give that much, is to lose that much. When the time came, neither showed true remorse though deep down, they mourned for each other and themselves. 

As a parting gift the boy left his instrument at the foot of the trunk, to testify forever the relationship that they once shared. No longer would the woods resonate with the song of the trees, played upon the lips of man. 

The man lived out his life content in the settlement below, working the forest and earth as his father had done before him. No longer was his mind plagued by the dreams of the forests and his memory quickly forgot the Grove and all that it entailed. He did keep a small portion of the Grove within him, unconsciously treating the land with respect. He became one of the first greenies of his time, always searching for more sustainable methods of using the forests, always minimizing mans effect on the environment. 

Though most farmers detested his methods, his thoughts and sentiments started to grow, spreading to like minded farmers in the region. They found that his use of the land was far sounder in the long term, giving productivity to the people and the land and decreasing the gap that the Grove and the boy had spoke of.

Far into the future, on a cold autumns morning, the man knew a contentment. Beside him was his wife, a kind commonly lass and they had raised a fine family. His farm was the talk of the town, producing many fine animals and vegetables and his sons and daughter grew up into people that he both loved and admired. The man knew that the time had come. 

Like an ageing animal in the wilderness, stiff from too many chases and the hardships of life, he knew to spend this time somewhere else. He gave his wife one more kiss goodbye, whispering words of love that he knew she wouldn’t hear, though he knew that she would understand. Never had she believed that his place was in the realm of man, his monthly sojourns into the wilderness attesting to his true nature and he knew she would forgive him for his final departure, even though it would break her heart too. With a final glimpse at her and a silent farewell to his children he shouldered his favorite pack and warmest clothes and left for the forest. 

It had been decades since he had trod this path, though he knew it like no other and even though it was close to his paddocks for some reason he had never found a reason to use it. Now his feet trod it with a sureness that his age denied. Deeper and deeper still into the woods did the mans path take him, under the ancient canopies did he travel and through the old corridors did he go. Traversing silent crossroads, unmarked by sign or post and passing through doors of both spirit and wood that opened at his touch. 

No more were the cathedrals like walls of the valley visible, instead in their place stood the bowels of the evergreen. No more did animals frolic in the undergrowth, instead the silence was that of the evergreen. The place was the Grove and the man new contentment.

OF SCIENCE AND FOOLS

Do not cling to reason in a world of contradictions.

All is speculation under the sky.

The universe created perception so it could perceive itself,

it created sight, to see itself,

hearing to hear itself,

touch, so it could touch itself,

speech so it could speak to itself,

and a consciousness so it could lie to itself.

Even though it told only the truth.

Time passed and mans grip on the land grew stronger, it clutched without mercy its jewels, taking its gems to itself and reinforcing its power in their dim reflection. Its progress knew no bounds and everything was for the taking. Nothing was held sacred and the natural world was made to diverge many of its secrets, bowing under mans whim. 

The age of progress the land knew, could not continue without mans place upon it being removed. The natural balance had dipped too far and the universe would attempt to balance it in the only way it new how, by shifting the yang to ying with change so large it would sweep man away in a destruction of its own making. Luckily for the land and man a few had predicted this shift. These few sought to reverse the natural order, reinstating the balance and continuing the relationship that man had with the planet.

The creature lay amongst the earth, a sprawling metropolis of unnatural shadows and foreboding towers. Its soul was darkness and its beauty obscurity. It lived and breathed with the breath of decay. Its heart was cold, a dead emotionless thing that beat to the sound of natures destruction, forever mirroring the world around it that slowly ate it with a thirst as strong as mans. 

It sat upon the countryside like a huge scar, consuming all that entered and continuously spewing forth a torrent of waste into the outside world. It was a temple, a shrine to man, continually reinforcing mans culture and his strength and manipulation. However it was also a testimony to its doom, for it strived to upset a delicate balance. 

Deep amongst the looming buildings, that’s architecture mirrored a thousand ages, glowed an office. Light illuminated a woman at her desk, amidst such technology her body looked somewhat alien, a small part of a biotech experiment. She manipulated the computer console in front of her with practiced ease, a cup of decaf coffee forgotten momentarily beside her as she traveled through cyberspace, a digital world that’s reality was shallow. 

The tool that she used was vital for her work, allowing for the quick manipulation of data that would otherwise take days. She saw it as a necessary evil, one to which she would turn to, to do good, justifying to herself the reason why she had taken this office job. 

The woman’s name was Jade. Her name was taken from the mineral that so closely resembled her spirit. Given to her by her hippy parents in the age of Aquarius, she was one of the new breed, dedicated to the preservation of nature through the use of technology, always eager to discover the wonders of nature so that she could conserve their spirits against the whim of man. 

Tonight she had received word from her colleagues in Tasmania, a place that she knew only too well having grown up below the foot hills of its most famous natural monument, Mount Wellington. She was eager for news of this distant place and also quietly excited, envisioning a trip to its distant shores and a trek into its distant mountains. She remembered with fond memories the distant quartzite escarpments rising above the dense rainforest canopy, the crisp cold air and the call of the currawong. The beautiful coast line so untouched by man and its quaint city a rich mixture of history and culture, providing all the services you could ask for a stones throw from wilderness. 

Her colleagues, professors at the University Of Tasmania, were undertaking research into the evolution of the southern conifers, a unique group of plants that’s origins dated back to the break up of Gondwanaland and shared a rich history with mainland Australia and the other Gondwanic continents, Antarctica, South America, Australia, South Africa and New Zealand. 

This group of species was most important for the reconstruction of past floras and paleoclimates. Tasmania served as a perfect study area for these plants, containing many relinctual families that still flourished today, as well as fossils of ancient species that were extinct or were found somewhere else on the planet and judging from the material that had been sent, they had made a huge discovery.

From the briefing that had been sent Jade she was able to piece together the basic idea of the finding. Deep in the southwest, a new species had been found, a lone specimen thousands of years old. But what was truly special about this species was its uniqueness. Instead of containing two copies of genetic material like other diploid organisms such as ourselves, it had three and therefore was triploid. This state effectively isolated it from the wider diploid community. 

It meant that it was unable to reproduce and stood as a relic of an ancient age continually reproducing by vegetative non-sexual means through the eras. The age of this species far dwarfed that of the Huon Pine at Mount Reid, as well as the clone Tictoria Laxifolia that was believed to be twenty thousand years old.  

Her job, if she were to take it, would be to try to find other similar species and to possibly discover its progeny or parents if it had any. She hoped the findings would be published in a scientific journal or a possible documentary on the southern conifers which could mean fame and fortune for the young scientist. She desperately wished to make a break through in her field. 

The travel details were set and if she wished she could leave the following day for Tasmania. 

The plane banked steeply as it made its approach to the Tasmanian coast the distant splendor of the Bass Straight awash in blue, tipped with the absolute white of breaking waves giving way to lush green pastures like a huge patchwork, comforting the land. The contrast was spectacular on this clear morning, the sun sitting above the clouds, a view that which up until recently, was confined to birds, now sharing its unearthly splendor with the mortals in their flying contraption. 

The day was without flaw, though Jade did not hold her breath being as familiar to the fickleness of Tasmania’s weather as she was, with its mountains she knew that the day sky could be cast in a hundred shades of gray, swept in from the south west, in an instant. She still appreciated the sight for what it was worth.

The airport was busy by Tasmanian standards, though a joke compared to the mighty airports she had visited on her many trips to Europe, its comforting pace served to remind her of the reason why she so cherished this land. The trip to Hobart, Tasmania’s capital city, was a breeze, giving her a chance to reflect on the days to come. First there would be an honorary meeting at the University of Tasmania and though she dreaded the briefing she would no doubt incur, she looked forward to seeing once again the eccentric lecturers that called the place home and to whom she had kept in contact with over the years as she completed her postgraduate studies. 

If all was well she hoped to leave the city the next morning to begin her journey into the mountains, which had been so far from her soul for so very long. She had told the party organizers that she worked alone; there would be no need for porters to carry her equipment. She needed solitude to work and would not be burdened with a bunch of undergraduates who knew nothing of scientific investigation in the real world. They had accepted, though grudgingly.

She spent the night at an old hotel situated at Battery Point that gave spectacular views over the harbor and Salamanca. The hotel gardens were dramatic, as were most gardens from this era, maintaining the traditional English spirit of order and abundance; a tapestry of green ivy hiding the establishment from view and the ancient rose bushes adding their pristine colors to the tapestry. 

The briefing had been what she expected, objective scientific judgment often being cast aside in view of the discovery, a hint of barely suppressed excitement filling the air. The professors were beside themselves, spending the night arguing over whom the specimen should be named after. Though all she cared for was to see this tree, this ancient being that had escaped the trials of evolution for so long and its equally beautiful sisters that were so unique to the landscape. They never ceased to bring awe to her when she was in their presence.

The morning of her departure brought the weather that she so longed for, the waters of the river cast in darkness and the shear dolerite cliffs of the mountain obscured from view. A light mist enclosed the city, hiding this small scar on the landscape from scrutiny as the dim lights of habitation glimmered beneath its near all encompassing breath. The mountains further west would be the same, an unearthly stillness dominating the air. The sun forgotten for a moment, a place of elderling creatures and magic come alive in human absence. 

She longed for those peaks, their mighty heights and the secrets of the woods. The bus driver announced their destination, rudely interrupting her thoughts

“Lune River. Gateway to the southwest, coming up.”

Jade stretched her back in preparation, it had also been quite a while since she had donned a pack and she did not relish the initial discomfort. 

The track lead through the forest, a narrow strip of civilization separating man from the wilderness and though narrow, its boundaries were a vast obstacle to cross. To disappear off the track and its security was to commit oneself truly, to the wilderness. The track winded up the valley, gaining altitude as it went. 

The forests on either side of the track were rich, green and wild, seeming to push against this thin civilized barrier wanting to once again claim the land that was its own. Sheer walls of ancient rock were now and then apparent, jutting from the forest below, their heights covered in a sprinkling of snow. Despite the uncomfortable feel of the pack on her shoulders Jade felt at home, free at last from the trappings of western civilization and the responsibilities of her refined life, she anticipated eagerly her meeting with the tree.

Her memory swept back through her life to once again ponder her childhood, as always the memories were happy and care free, her family life a rich and rewarding experience that gave her the appreciation for nature that had led her to undertake the lifetime study of it. 

Her parents, dedicated greenies, had instilled in her the values of the wilderness social, aesthetic, as well as scientific. These values had served her well as she progressed through her postgraduate studies. Apparently, or so her parents had said, she had come from a long line of greenies, who first arrived as early settlers in the seventeen hundreds. They had developed some of the first unrecognized sustainable farming techniques that were still being developed today in an effort combat heavy erosion problems in some areas. She felt proud to carry on this rich and worthwhile tradition, hoping that her distant ancestors would think the same of her.

Conflict had arisen with her parents on more than one occasion. Her parents being carefree hippies often held disregard for the analytical mathematical world that she embraced and whether she did this to escape their hippy lifestyle she could not even say herself, though the arguments on whether maths had any reverence to nature and life, was always a heated one. Her parents were far happier to rely on intuition than logic in their daily lives, finding it far more harmonious to their human souls than the cold calculating world of maths.

The present brought her abruptly from the past, here was the place where she must leave the track, to forgo this small link with the outside world and to venture alone by compass and map to the trees secret location. 

The sun was forsaken, banished by the clouds to the upper heavens where its light went unnoticed except by the angels who danced in its rays and caressed in its light. Their sorrow at being hidden from the earth, manifested itself in the rain as the tears wept to the earth below coated the earth in glistening wetness as a testimony to the earth’s beauty and the angel’s pain. Jade herself almost wept with the angels at the beauty of the untouched land, the pristine savage garden that surrounded her, a thing from the gardens of Eden before the fall of man. 

The days had been hard and audacious as she pushed herself to the brink of spiritual and physical exhaustion, the land seeming to reject her, sapping her strength in every way it knew how, leaving her a lifeless thing living in awe and fear of it. She was lost.

She had known it days ago, though would only admit it to herself now when all seemed helpless. How she wished she had accepted the chopper ride to the site, this foolhardy mission by herself seemed pointless and stupid in the wake of the past days events, though strangely enough she found no regret within herself. 

She had battled south through horizontal scrub at little more than a snails pace, before gaining a plateau that elevated her above the countryside and it was here, when she looked towards the mountains that she did not recognize, that she had been transported to what seemed another world. 

She sojourned on with the vain hope that she would run into a track, rationing her supplies as they dwindled and the weight left her body. Though her strength had departed her, her spirit had not and she pushed on with single minded determination, eager to fulfill her goal. even if it was the death of her.

Deeper into the garden of Utopia, further from the eyes of man, across lonely plains and through silent forests did she go. Her spirit questioning her every move, she searched feebly for familiarity and the signs of her kind, though none appeared. This was not her place, it did not want her, she was an abomination cast from heavens gate to dwell within the savage garden of nature for all eternity, or until the point of death. 

At these times the trees seemed alive, watching with little compassion their eyes cold and foreboding, drilling into her back, though when she turned they were as they were, simple trees. She fancied that at times she could hear them whispering in a language unbeknown to man, just above the range of human hearing which she failed to understand, even if she wanted too, which she didn’t. Even here at the point of physical exhaustion she found beauty, the aesthetic principles of nature still in force, suffering her to love the place that slowly killed her. 

She understood at these times mans primeval fears that defied all reason and how perhaps without these fears, that of the dark, the unknown man may have kept his place within the savage garden, remained a part of it as the animals were who walked its corridors with unquestionable familiarity. She was an outcast from this world, nothing without her reason, without her technology and tools. 

Deeper and deeper still into the woods did the woman’s path take her, under the ancient canopies did she travel and through the old corridors did she go. Traversing silent cross roads unmarked by sign or post and passing through doors of both spirit and wood that opened at her touch. No more were the cathedrals like walls of the valley visible instead in their place stood the bowels of the evergreen. No more did animals frolic in the undergrowth, instead the silence was that of the evergreen. The place was the Grove and the woman knew curiosity.

It was like being awoken from a dream to comprehend a larger reality, one that seemed so real that this may very well be the dream and the dream the reality. Jade knew at once that this could not be the tree the scientists spoke of. Perhaps she had stumbled across something far more unique and wonderful. Gone was her fatigue in an instant, the enigma that stood before her a vessel filled with such esoteric knowledge that her scientific reasoning fell apart, to lie like a shattered theory at a skeptics feet, though in its place instead of disappointment stood elation. 

She knew instantly that this tree was old. It reminded her strongly of the Sequa she had visited in the North Americas though in other ways it was remotely different. The existence of this tree cast doubt on all known theories of the oldest tree and though she had not taken core samples, she knew with some excitement that this may very well be the oldest. 

She was afraid to touch its surface. What if it disappeared? What if her mind couldn’t cope with the physical illusion that it had created? What if it was only a physical manifestation of all her longings, to shatter and fade as the reality of the real forest took its place? 

She hesitated for a moment unsure and afraid, though when others would have given in, she with her inquisitive mind and scientific spirit reached forward, her fingers trembling slightly, as they reached and made contact with the fine bark.

Images and thoughts struck her with the fury of a hurricane, twisting her minds reality into a spinning vortex that sought to plunge her mind into oblivion. She rallied, desperately hanging on to the thin thread of sanity that was her own, gaining some security from the thin coil of herself that was being overcome by the unknown malignant force. Visions came to her, brief and powerful, a land white and cold to which a distant sun shone, a distant place of sunshine and love and most surprisingly within the web of images, herself or someone so like her that they were inseparable. She could not make sense of this phenomenon. Was it a symptom of her malnourished body? Surely not and why when she had touched the tree? 

She fell yet again into the hurricane her brief freedom momentarily forgotten against the strong feelings that pervaded every image, flashing before her eyes so fast that they denied comprehension, age upon age confined to an instant. She saw her familiar, yet again, though this time far older, stumbling towards the Grove in a white blizzard, her expression fleeting though clearly conveying happiness. Suddenly, the feeling of this particular instant was so powerful, that it sent her mind into unconsciousness.  

She awoke just as suddenly as she had fallen, believing she had dreamt the moment, though the tree stood still, at least attesting to part of her hallucinations. A distant voice in the back of her head somehow convinced her that it was real, as real as the forest around her. She came to her feet slowly dizziness nearly casting her back to the ground. What manner of creature was this? Of course she had heard of objects holding a glimmer of their past within them, but this was a tree and that theory had never been approached by a proper scientific investigation anyway. So, what manner of being could do this?

She feared touching it again, even though she knew that a theory must be tested time and time again before it could be formulated. The thought of once again descending into the whirling maelstrom sent fear into her heart, though it was also strangely compelling and without wishing to do so she reached forward shaping the question in her mind. “What are you?” 

Feeling slightly childish and gullible, she was surprised when it answered “I am the Grove.” 

She fell back into unconsciousness.

She awoke yet again, quite sure this time that she had descended into Alice in Wonderland and quite ready to have tea with the mad hatter when she heard a distant muttering.

“Who would be human? The fragility, the weakness, you only have to speak to them and they either collapse on the spot or run shouting hysterics until they are out of sight. I suppose one must take it as a compliment if you are just ignored.” The Grove continued. “By golly it is hard to believe that they have caused so much trouble, common simpletons the lot of them, if only they had a decent bit of tree spirit within them they might be tolerable, but no, I am not even given that small mercy.” 

Jade was not sure what she was hearing. “Maybe its their short lives?” the Grove pondered ”It causes some sort of brain disease, too much going on at once, their little minds reach overload and wham! One more loony human to add to the collection, though I seem to remember one young lad, now there was a decent human, a spite ugly like them all, but tolerable all the same”. 

The conversation dwindled on and on as though the Grove or whatever it called itself, was blatantly oblivious to her recovery and she rose with some indignation. If she was going to be a scientist taking part in this satirical charade she would not be insulted by her subject matter.

“Excuse me, I.,” She started.

“So you have recovered young lass.” the Grove cut her off  mid-sentence. “Excuse my memory lass but I seem to recall you from somewhere, did we meet perhaps 200 years ago, surely not, silly me, how could you be that old but still…” 

“I am not a young lass,” Jade retorted, “and I will not be referred to as one. I will have you know I have a PhD in tree science”

“So I am a tree, is their anything you know that I don’t?” 

She was rather taken aback by this reply, and also wondered if she should doubt her own sanity just by her willingness to take part in such a conversation.

“Finally, your first coherent thought and you doubt it. Humans, my God! What strange creatures. You don’t believe in talking trees, but you are quite content to believe in Gods and heavens to which you have no evidence for. And you call yourself a scientist, shame on you.”       

Jade spoke again. “What are you that you could talk or communicate with me? That you throw around such ideological terms? And your language! Where on earth did you pick up such a style?” 

“To answer your first question, I am the Grove, there is no need to elaborate, there is only one and it is me. As for communication, well am I truly communicating with you, or do you think you are imagining it? I can’t safely say, after all I could just be a part of your imagination, acting out your unconscious commands and after that nasty fall you had, well, who can very well say that you haven’t incurred a touch of brain damage.”

The Grove paused before continuing. “My language I picked up from a bunch of convicts who were trying to escape from one of your settlements,” it explained, “I believe their bones are just under where you’re standing, had little patience for them, they barely glanced at me.” 

Jade was not about to stand on a bunch of rotten human bones, it was now time to assert her scientific dominance, no more chitchat, even if she was insane and this tree wasn’t really talking to her, the physical proximity of it couldn’t be denied.      

Somehow, the Grove had gained some understanding of Jade. It instantly knew that she was indeed a descendant of his companion who had passed on so many years ago, leaving this progeny in his place. He also knew of its daughter, a tree much like itself only younger, a product of the love that it and the other had shared, from which he received great joy and comfort. 

Funny how they had come together, two generations separated by kingdoms and reunited in space, could there possibly be a reason? It told Jade, perhaps foolishly that this other was of his kind and she promised to find out for sure when she got back to the city, though it kept the thought to himself, it thought Jades return may be very unlikely.

Jade began setting up her scientific equipment under the Groves ever-watchful gaze. It was amused, watching her assembling her gear into its components, her sample dishes and photographic equipment at the ready. The Grove was very interested, though extremely critical of all this activity, never had it been a subject in a scientific investigation and he felt truly flattered. 

Jade knew what was going to occur shortly and was a little unsure at what the Groves reaction might be to having part of its body removed and sealed in a container for later analysis. Lucky for her, the Grove was in a good mood. 

“Please take part of my bark, isn’t it quite beautiful? And yes, you mustn’t miss out on my spectacular leaves, why they are the envy of the whole forest and surely you must take some of my trunk, for determining my age, well I would be most impressed if you could tell me that.”

 Jade set about taking these items, as well as countless photographs which the Grove was happy to pose for, only suggesting that they wait until midday when the light would greatly enhance the colors in its canopy. 

The Grove was having a ball. Well this would be something to tell the others in the forest and a documentary well, we must not miss out on this. The thought of its image being projected across the world on everyone’s television screens was pure bliss for the Grove. Jade was so busy at work she did not notice the advent of night until the forest was dark and with little to eat and exhaustion swamping her she collapsed into her sleeping bag, into condensed silence. 

Her dreams that night were strange, as though the forest had a voice and was trying to speak to her.

“Do not allow this to take place. We will not allow the Grove and its ego to ruin our solitude”. She awoke rested, though the dream still lingered and set about with her scientific discoveries. 

She told the Grove of the equipment she would need flown in, the huge machines that she would strap to tell her how much carbon dioxide he used, how often his stomata opened. By this stage the Grove was hardly interested, having tired of the whole spectacle. 

Somewhere along the line the reality of the situation had appeared. It foresaw the forest full of noisy, intrusive people, going about their business without care or consideration for it and its cousins. It knew that its ego had gotten in the way yet again, damn it was hard being so beautiful. 

To occupy the time it sent a barrage of questions to the scientist, undermining her valued science with as many contradictions that it could put into a sentence.    

“Do you not agree that the universe manifests itself in your vision? That it gains identity by your observation and that your observation is also again a manifestation of the universe? You are like an empty vessel that looks in and upon itself, giving reason where none exists. Your senses, to which your reason survives, are reasonable, but your senses and your whole consciousness is self-referential, a continuous circle to which you cannot escape.”

 Jade did her best to ignore the ranting of the Grove, telling it in no uncertain terms that science was the key to unlocking the true fundamental secrets of the universe and that was all their was to it, but still the questions continued. 

“You try to analyze and generalize the world around you, finding metaphors to fit the particular bit of chaos that you seek to manipulate, not fully understanding that this chaos manipulates your understanding just the same. You pick and choose the boundaries of understanding drawing lines between concepts and theories not realizing that these lines are infinite in their structure and that the only thing separating understanding and chaos is your subjective discrimination of which chaos and order are formed.”

  “You fail to grasp the concept of oneness, always seeking to divide reality and unreality when really they are faces of the same coin and that any break in the link casts speculation on the whole system. Despite this, you use the scientific method to divide theory from practice, using one equally subjective phenomenon as a basis for judging all others. You fail miserably to understand your role in the theatre of life, treating yourself as the god whom you detest, who sits behind the stage manipulating the performance though staying apart from the act.” 

By now the Grove was becoming one of the most difficult scientific subjects she had ever encountered.

“You look at me and you see a tree. What is a tree I may ask? And you will rattle off a list of attributes, chlorophyll; stomata; photosynthesis; double cell walls as though that is what a tree is, you who discard the infinite structure of my being, ignoring that when I breath the far reaches of the universe breaths and your very self compensates for my every motion. As far as my physical attributes are concerned you fail to grasp the concept of process and matter, believing that a system is a prevalence of matter that operates outside the framework when they are exactly the same.” The Grove was on a roll.

“You believe so righteously, perhaps due to your supposed higher intellect, that when you see a tree, it is a tree and that any understanding that derives from this observation is fact, and though from your perspective I don’t doubt that it is true, I ask you to look at me from the perception of a mouse. Am I small? Am I large? Your idea and the mouse’s so beautifully contradict each other it is hard to find who is right, add to this, that by attempting to see me through the eyes of a mouse you must completely discard the mind of a man and thereby this conversation becomes completely irrelevant.”

Jade was becoming sick of the Groves ranting. “So what is the point Grove? Should I stop considering every subjective thought that enters my mind, should I perhaps stop talking or communicating all together, maybe if I try hard enough I could cease to exist, is that what you want?”

“All I can safely say is that my existence and yours are formed by infinite contradictions that give the world its seeming reality. Take away one side of the contradiction, say big and small and what are you left with? Nothing and that is what your existence is.”

“But surely as a scientist I must strive for understanding, to uncover and to manipulate the very essence of the universe, to find mathematical equations amongst the nonsense of nature in order to better understand our position in the world. You who so critically dismiss our scientific method cannot deny that it works in the real world. That it allows for the formulation of rules that allow accurate prediction of events.” 

“You miss my point dear scientist; I do not doubt your ability to understand that which you deem understandable, though I feel your understanding that you seem to class as fundamental, is flawed. After all, you would not have thought that trees could talk until one spoke to you and this tiny part of reality was lost to you until I made my appearance, until then your senses were blinded by what you thought a tree was and you were smug and vain in your understanding of me. Never overestimate the power of the senses; they are but a subjective gateway to your perception to which your reality is formed. Try to prove me wrong.”

“I do not doubt my senses. I am a scientist, if my senses don’t allow me to see something, a machine that I create surely will.” 

“But with what senses is this machine made to manipulate?” The Grove was rather pleased with his rhetorical reverse logic, to think that he a simple tree could outsmart a scientist, who would believe it but the trees? “Do you not admit that your fundamental laws are a human convention, contrived by your human mind to understand a greater reality, after all does the rock know that he follows the laws of motion as he rolls down a hill. I to whom photosynthesis is an integral part of my system know little of it, I know not of electron gradients and electron transfers reduction and oxidation, though my being must understand it completely for it to work. The only way your perception of photosynthesis works is because you impose it on a system that is unexplainable and needs no explanation. It just is.”

What the Grove had said gave Jade something to think about as she lay in the sun amongst the Groves huge roots and although she found it all horribly bewildering, she sensed some truth in what it said. 

Maybe he was right. Though admitting that, would mean discarding all her scientific knowledge or would it only mean understanding them on the subjective basis that they were formulated, after all they were still useful from a human context.   

What of her work here, was she truly ready to reveal to the world the secret of the Grove? Was the world ready for its existence? Should she leave this mystery unsolved? A conscious forest, it could revolutionize, our understanding of plants, the idealism of vegetarians would be confused, perhaps cast out, discarded from their perceived lofty place above the meat eaters. Would people think twice before biting into a piece of broccoli? Vegetable rights groups may spring up all over the place, idealizing cabbage and its place in modern society.

Then again, she thought, what difference would it make really? In the end, human society would shape its own end and society would do its best to shape the individual, even as the individual shaped society. Why should everything be so anthropomorphic? What gives us the right to judge creatures by our own standards of suffering and pain? Why shouldn’t the plant experience these, as it surely must do? 

What were the morals and ideals of vegetables, but ideas formulated in a present socio-economic climate, where vegetarians are given the choice to refuse meat. Would it not be far better for both plant and meat to be judged equally so that we can eat and kill indiscriminately? 

Was she ready to do this thing? Her Tasmania, her Van Diemens Land, what would become of it? The forests would be explored to find more beings like this one, a remorseless wave of scientists eager to make an impact on the world. Wouldn’t it be better for things to go on as they were? 

The Grove too was a puzzling mystery. Despite the sheer force of its existence it possessed such vanity, though at times such humanity, this tree had indeed shaped human thought as much as he had been shaped himself. The others that she heard at night silently begging her to give up her foolish human endeavor, to leave at least one secret from the larger humanity, were these similar creatures to the Grove? 

The Grove certainly thought not, basic and unrefined it would say, though this may well be its vanity talking. What if all plants had something to say, if we only had the heart to listen? And perhaps they did, perhaps there was no need to talk with them as they already talked to us. Who cannot question the beauty of the forest? The way it instills in us peace and serenity, if only we would listen, does this communication not transcend words, a meaning lost as soon as it is spoken? 

The Grove had reservations, or so it seemed, it had grown tired of the constant attention and the ideas of more equipment or scientists. Its very conversation seeming to undermine her scientific principles that it would become a part of. It seemed to lapse into further silence each day. There was also the question of how to return to civilization with her discovery; with little food and the small problem of being lost, she feared that all this reasoning might prove grossly irrelevant. These fears kept her awake during the night and at times she feared the decision she would have to make probably the next day, if she were to leave this place alive.

The morning brought the mist. Like a serpent it whispered amongst the woods and slithered along the forest floor casting the land in a translucent hallow that obscured all but the most distinct form from view. For Jade it only seemed to reveal indecision, everywhere she looked reality was cloaked in darkness, seeming to reveal all that was indistinct and indecisive.

 She longed for the sun to cut through her confusion as it did the mist, to reveal the world in all its simplicities. How disappointed she was when it stayed around, reflecting her loneliness upon herself as the Grove stood silent and imposing in the background. 

She needed to make a decision, for without one she could not go on, a sign would be best, one of those freak occurrences of nature like a bolt of lightning that had perhaps shaped so many decisions in the past, though she didn’t hold her breath in preparation. She knew that all signs were equal it just depended on how you read them. She looked towards her equipment now lying discarded, a thin layer of leaves and dew obscuring its indistinct surface and then towards the Grove, the enigma of her decision. 

How far apart they appeared. But now they were inexplicitly linked together by fate, which one was revealing and which one diverging, who could say? And that was how she felt. Had she really discovered something far from civilization in another world, or had it discovered her? Had it imposed its ideas and feelings upon her, or had she unwillingly made up her own? 

She knew she had made a decision in that instant, even if the Grove had begged her to take forth its image to the masses she would have refused, this was her world and she would be its God for a time and perhaps forever. What could fate do but adhere to her whim? 

She gathered her equipment, partly gone was her respect for it, after all what did it do but signal her shortcomings as a scientist. She didn’t expect a farewell from the Grove, its silence seemed terminal and she knew that anything it said would be mocking and perhaps spiteful. She would make her way from this realm of silence and beauty, which would for a time, stand free of man. Which way she would travel she did not know, anything would be preferable than standing still; she shouldered her pack and was about to leave when….  

Out of the silence came a voice, a voice of music that had her transfixed, it mirrored everything that she had created in her minds eye and gave reason to her journey and its destination which she realized, were the same. 

What ever she did here would be right, right by the trees, right by the forest and right by the universe for they were all one and contained her within themselves. She knew too, that the Grove was not the performer of this rhapsody, though he heard it the same, its source was harmony and everything was a part of it. She knew the music would accompany her wherever she may go.

The Grove chuckled silently to itself as she left.    

Thank you my dear audience for bearing with me through the trials and tribulations of the Grove. Did you feel perhaps cheated by Jades decision? Did you hope for fame and fortune for the Grove? A life in a test tube? Or are you content knowing that he may be out their somewhere, waiting to be discovered. A small secret in an infinite web of secrets, perhaps you may discover it, or one like it, isn’t that in itself worth living for? These tales are but a fraction of the adventures of the Grove. If you would care to know more, please, read on.  For now, let reality become the substance for imagination and I will leave you eternally, in the Groves presence.