I would just like to preface this drabble with the fact that this could have easily related to the story of Daphne and Apollo, but it doesn’t.
Anyway. I’m a fall person. I was born in the fall. I like fall colors. I like fall foods. I like Halloween and cold weather and scarves. I like it when the ground gets all frosty and crunches under your feet.
I’ve lived my entire life in the Pacific Northwest–AKA the Evergreen State–so while we may not get the beautiful fall colors of New England, we certainly have trees. I’m not going to say that I’ve ever wanted to transform into a tree (that actually sounds terrible), but the feeling of being surrounded by unfathomably tall trees feels a lot like home.
But then, I’m always thinking about growth, about growing thicker skin, about having deep roots and wide-open arms. Maybe I’m more like a tree than I think I am.
Anyway, here’s a drabble.
(Noun: from Greek phutón for “plant” and anthrōpos for “person.”)
The metamorphosis of humans into plants.
The trees overhead are painted shades of orange and brown and each leaf clings by a thread, threatening to fall. Their dry whisper sounds like a language of its own.
I don’t see anyone, but I’m certain I heard words.
I swing myself into the branches to get a better look, but the path is empty. Just me and the trees.
I press my palm to bark and swear I feel a pulse beneath my fingers.
My breath catches and I hold it; it is autumn and the trees have secrets to tell.