eyes locked on my opposite’s tower i only notice the visitor when they’re about to enter my field. i can’t remember the last time i had one. and –greater surprise– they stop just at the threshold to raise a bowl of black earth and squirming worms. they know the protocols? in the gliding gait of my people i approach the visitor, gathering my petals and weaving a body around me for the first time in eons. slowly, memory thawing, i remember their people. except… weren’t they all dead?

– “i am summoned. please introduce yourself and state your enquiry, visitor.”

my introduction is a bit stilted. i only ever use wind-speak within my meadow. ground-speak takes a while getting used to again, as my roots have gotten too used to their quiet.

they walk in, head held high taking in the warmth of my light. “i am kessa of the plows, ancient one.” they stomp and kneel on their forelegs and deposit the bowl at the base of my trunk. “i came to enquire on your wishes, ancient one, for even if memory fades, we will not forget the vow.”

my branches shake. we… they said… we.

– “but i though you were dead. all of you. i sensed the envelopment, and the cutting of ways, and the encroachment. then the vanishing… this place only survived because of the threshold.” i open the ground under the bowl, inviting its contents to become part of the meadow.

“no, we are not dead, ancient one. and we are even more grateful, for we remember of your struggle to hold the encroachment. we just had to hide for a very long time. and then it took us longer still to find a way back.”

i look again at my opposite, and if i focus enough, i can indeed see someone there as well, honoring the vow.

– “i am overjoyed that our struggle was enough. as you can see, the meadow has wilted, and the forests have decayed. but there are still seeds, and the grounds should be healthy. it would do us wonders, if you spread some of the seeds around the forest, and bring more of their soil back, so i can feed the meadow again”

i weave a sled, basket, and yoke, and carefully don it on kessa.

– “when you’re done, please take these fruits to your people. a renewal of our vow.”

they raise, and start gathering seeds around the meadow. the meadow sings in joy, their wind voices so loud even kessa looks around, startled.

i smile. some things have been forgotten.

– “that’s their song of rebirth. you’ll get used to it again. welcome back.”

notes:

prompted by

an abstract rendering of a close meadow and distant, dark, tall trees, with space warping on the borders

source: twitter of Brian Bucklew

related to people of the translations