The Tree

One of my favorite books, despite being apocalyptic, is The Hollow Kingdom by Kira Jane Buxton. A fantasy about a dystopian future where humans are becoming zombies and Mother Nature is fighting back, is told by a pet crow named ST. ST is on a mission to save the pets, who are either trapped in houses without food, or at risk of becoming their zombified owners next meal.

The bulk of the book is told by ST, the crow. Yet, scattered throughout are chapters from another characters’ perspective: a cat, a poodle, a polar bear, a camel, and right in the middle of the book, a chapter in the voice of the Mother Tree. The Mother Tree is speaking to ST, I think, and yet reading it it’s hard not feel like this lyrical, wise voice is speaking directly to the reader. Her words were so powerful, I copied over two paragraphs in my journal:

If you are alive, whether blood or bark – you will be struck by pain, love, longing, fear, anger and the particular ache of sadness. There will be joys that quiver your leaves and betrayals that sever your roots, poisoning the water you pull. These are the varying notes in the music of living. Look up, to close your eyes is to stagnate. To rot and stop the song.

My gift to you is to know that we are here, all around you, talking to one another and dreaming of your success. Sorcery is everywhere, in the silver stroll of the slug and the lighting up of the very veins of you. Open up those beautiful eyes to a world who is a mosaic of magic. She is just waiting for you to notice. (p. 124, The Hollow Kingdom by Kira Jane Buxton.)

I don’t know a lot about Mother Trees, those older trees that through underground networks help nurture the younger trees in the forest, but reading those lines I felt hope for the first time in a long time. If the Mother Tree had said, we are counting on you, or we are relying on you, my despair would have deepened, I think. But she said we are “here, all around you, talking to one another and dreaming of your success.”

There is an old maple tree in our yard that has been the home of a family of raccoons. It has hosted a clutch of mergansers, a nest of Indigo Buntings. Every year the kestrel fledglings use it as a landing point as they learn to fly. One tree, so many lives nourished. Including my own, and River, my dog’s, as we sit in the yard and watch the wildlife come and go.

The trees are doing their part. They are here for us. They are dreaming of our success. Maybe we can also dream of our success. Maybe we can also do our part. Maybe we can remember we aren’t alone in trying.