Trees in the Dark

 The trees sat as whispers swept through them. The words were long and powerful and filled with magic. They spoke of ages come and gone, and wonder yet to be seen; of light and color and something mixed. But the words, their purpose was to share something of the dark.

    It took them time, as the trees conversed, slowly and amongst themselves. One tree spoke, and then another, and sometimes they spoke all at once, in a language all their own born of deep roots and tall stretches and dying ember light. No one knew, who was watching, what it was they said. Just as no one knew, who was watching, what it was the whispers meant. But when the stillness came, eyes, the ones that noticed, saw the trees go ridged. They saw them prepare to move.

    It seems it was only yesterday that the trees sat and listened. Only yesterday when they took up their roots and marched. Then they were gone, to lands unknown, perhaps to flee the darkness.

    And we, the ones watching, saw them no more; more the folly us. For trees will always seek the light, and it would have been best had we followed.

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