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To be remembered not by flowers

One day, there was a little girl tree. Her trunk sprouted from the ground, firm and stable. She loved the summer, autumn, fall, and even the winter. Her roots took hold into the ground and grew deep and firm.
When next winter came, the wind was cold. It blew her over, and her trunk toppled. The other trees remained. The snow scared her open wound, and she retreated beneath the ground.
When spring came, her trunk was covered by the plants of the forest, but she couldn’t see their flowers. The earth became her home, and she breathed the soil as her oxygen. Her roots grew deep.
Autumn brought a chill through the air, and the trees dropped their petals. Flowers coated the sidewalks, and leaves floated through the air.
“To even feel the warmth of the autumn would be better than my confinement.” The girl tree thought, and she pushed with all her might against the soil. The voices of the outside serenaded her, and for a moment she thought she had broken free. She listened to the trees wail at the falling of their petals and the loss of their beauty.
She rested, letting her roots grow deeper into the soil. “Tell me about your flowers, so I can imagine I have them too.” Her voice rumbled through the soil, reaching the other roots. “Your time will come.” The trees replied, leaving the ground for a breath of fresh air. Her chest heaved as she breathed the soil.
“Tell me about the wind, so I can remember it’s pressure against my bark.”
The trees shuffled, but none replied. The girl tree reached up to press against the surface again, but the crust had hardened with growth from the other forest planets.
“Don’t worry little girl, one day you will bloom too.” The trees reassured her. They left again to breathe the air. Her chest heaved as she breathed the soil. Her roots grew deeper still, reaching towards the heat of the earth’s core.
“When I bloom, will you remember me?” She wondered, growing ever farther from the surface. She looked down at her hands, now rough with age and wear. Her bark was torn and scarred in the most beautiful ways, but there was none to admire her. The heat of the molten core felt clean against her scarred bark.
The girl grew upwards, her branches now that of a women. She touched the earths surface, using all her might to reach.
“Tell me of the winter, for I miss it’s cold air and snowcapped mountains.”
“Tell me of the spring, and of what it feels to be reborn.”
“Tell me of the summer, for I miss the heat of the sun.”
“Tell me of your autumn, of which you complain of so much. What is it to shed the pain of a past life?”
“Tell me of your seasons, for I’ve only ever felt one.”

The women’s voice sprang from the wells, the mountains, and the valleys of the earth, for her roots had spread beneath every corner. Her voice was beautiful, mature, and lovely, and the trees stood still to listen.
At once she sunk away, her roots spiraling downwards. The heat of the earth grew closer, and her heart struggled to beat against the pressure of the soil.
“Don’t worry women, one day you will bloom.” But their voices were too late, and she was gone in an instant. The ground shook as her roots collapsed, relieved from their duty. The earth fell apart, and the trees shook, for her roots no longer held them together. And they remembered her.

@whalekeeper @loopylin

I wish this poem was more cohesive but I still like it : )

That was beautiful. I had to reread it twice ❤️

I think there were a couple times when you said “women” when you meant “woman”? (I’m sorry my grammar naziness is showing)

But anyway, I can’t pick a favorite line. How do you paint such a vivid picture with so few words?

Yayy you watched it! I knew you would like it. Also the poem was beautiful, I wondered at one point if she tyrned into fossilized wood because that stuff is gorgeous. :]