The energy in the trees was palpable-
at once pulsating and swirling
I parked my bike.
I felt compelled to allow myself
the pleasure of being its witness.
No. Watching wasn’t enough
I wanted to be it- be them- I was jealous of their artistic freedom to sway and flutter
and cough their leaves up and out
Over the heads of mortals as I
Inexplicably I began to sway.
Their breaths were louder than mine,
were deeper and went through me
But I mattered and so I too deepened my breath but they didn’t care.
I shouted and screamed and their lack of judgement
was almost touching- they were blind
to my dancing and now frenzied jumping
Even when I took my shoes off
there were no whispers, only magic between the trees themselves.
My toes furled and spread, rooting me-
My arms spanning, my fingers twigs
Perhaps my fingernails then could be leaves
or better still my hair that disobeyed
me could be my fruit, my orange flower. What
would be my eyes?
No one saw me but them- even still
They had no opinion.
I could tell them anything, be anything before them,
I could hurl abuse at them, fucks and shits, but my voice doesn’t matter and the trees still sway
as one but not, somehow.