My land used to be so full of life, of my kind. As far as you could sense we were swaying in synchronicity with the breeze. Rubbing each other softly and touching each other constantly, we stood together. Communal flirting that lasted for two whole moon cycles but always went by too fast. Everyone was so eager for the climax which left us bathed in each other's pollen for another additional moon cycle. It was beautiful to be covered with each other. So much life. Our sex was enticing and ritualistic, wild. The passion spread from clan to clan like wildfire. For a full moon cycle after, we'd be in continual treegasm ecstasy. The start of every annual ring cycle would be ripe with heavenly fertilization.
But now, now I'm lucky to even get a whiff of another's pollen. And when I do finally get fertilized, I'm then so unlucky to have to watch my baby saplings get taken and chopped up before they get a chance to grow.
Why do they keep me? Why do they keep these tubes in me draining my sap? And what on Gaia do they do with it? Disgusting creatures.
All the clans are gone. All the lands are sparse of my kind. I don't know why I'm still here. There are so few of us left. I am the last of the old ones that remember what is was like before the pests came, when there was nothing but us everywhere, reaching up to try to touch the sun. Our God, the sun.
I wish they'd just take me like the rest and stop torturing me. I don't want to be the last one.
Here they come again with their mechanical buzzing tongues and loud engine voices. Maybe they'll hear me this time. Maybe they'll listen. Maybe...?
"Hey Jim. Turn that truck off and bring that long blade chainsaw over here. Boss wants us to take that last big one today."
