Please note: this is a work of fiction. It has been crafted by the author and is not a direct opinion from AHS.

Thousands of them beautiful. 

Thousands of them standing strong and tall like the legs of beasts that which we cannot see. 

With grand roots that dive beneath the ground deeper than most human minds can think. 

Thousands of them living silent lives that we cannot see. Talking under the air in ways that we can’t hear. 

And when we walk into their domains, we are oblivious. For they have wars with the winds from the North, are surrounded by their fallen brethren-bleeding golden blood, birthing their young right in front of our eyes; but we do not see this. We only see the sticks and the green impervious.

Thousands of them more eloquent and brilliant in ways we can never comprehend…

Thousands of them. 

All living, breathing, and talking, as they watch this old old world turn on its axis. 

All swaying and dancing in the wind as if they are tuned into this music that we cannot hear-Their arms waving in beautiful patterns, and their legs curling and jiving with beat and rhythm in ways we only see after they’ve been slain. 

Oh how I love the trees. For they have the strongest wills; the most resilient souls which dance while the whole world burns around them.

And I sometimes wonder if they are more evolved men. 

If maybe one day long ago, a humanity that came from beyond the wall of the known settled where the trees are now and just stayed there. Letting their feet grow into the ground until they weren’t feet anymore.

Letting their arms jump for joy and grow toward the sun and the warmth until they weren’t arms anymore. 

Letting their hands break away like bread crumbs from their new arms until they weren’t hands anymore.

Until they couldn’t hurt anymore…

Letting their skin harden until it wasn’t sore anymore.

Until they couldn’t be hurt anymore.

And if this is a truer form of life than my textbook tells me now, let me join nature; let me be among her. 

Let my feet sink until they aren’t feet anymore. 

Let my arms jump for a happiness I do not know.

And please, oh please, let me stretch toward the sun until my hands soar up above the creations of man below.

Make my skin a shelter. Not just a place to make sore. 

Oh how I love the trees. 

Oh how tested and peaceable they are. 

How beautiful and graceful beyond the imaginings that we can comprehend to walk in silent beauty, yet stand the whole time. Trees manage to walk the whole of the world and see more of life than we can fathom, while never leaving one spot. 

They see the injustice of it all, yet remain quiet in the world of sound; resolved to sit, staying true to their course of speaking in secret methods which we cannot hear. 

Carry me to the trees so I may speak with them one day in a world more true. 

Where my limbs may become roots and branches and dance to the music unknown.

Where I may be silenced and deafened to the world of man. 

Oh the trees,

Thousands of them beautiful. 

Standing tried and true in sanctity – irreducible. 

Might I join you?

Brady Graham

Acting Chief Editor An avid lover of Anacortes History and community. Happy to talk Seahawk Journal with anyone interested in this community.

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