A Tree's View

My life is slow.  I don't mean boring, just slow.  In a manner of speaking not a lot happens, but when it does, it is enjoyable.  I listen to the squirrels quipping back and forth.  I gaze at travelers passing by. Sometimes they come in groups and sometimes they come alone.  These people admire the river and the rocks and the views, hardly leaving a mark on the land.  They stay on the paths and don't venture out into the woods among us.

I get to watch as the river rushes by.  The birds chatter.  The weather changes.  And every once in a great while someone comes along who stops to appreciate me.  When I was a sapling, growing cautiously atop my rocky mound, there were those who drew me.  They would sit and marvel at the sapling growing from a rock.  I used to love seeing their eyes light up beneath untidy, windblown hair as they put charcoal to paper. 

There was a long time when no one came.  We all talked amongst ourselves, but it just wasn't the same as having visitors.  The humans had forgotten us.  They were busy inventing contraptions to do all sorts of things we couldn't even dream of.

But then they came back.  Humans carrying new boxes.  Flash and smoke.  Something that this one young man carried with him was bulky and looked fragile.  He took his time setting it up.  There was a root contraption that he set his box on before lining it up, taking care to center me in his line of sight.  He pushed a button and then waited.  He was a very patient young man, I was very impressed.  He didn't move for quite some time.  Then he smiled and packed up all his things and carried on.  I never saw him again. 

As soon as the humans had come they left again.  The time passed and we continued growing.  There were rumors that many of our distant cousins were becoming victims of torture and pain and death.  We drooped in sadness.  The rains made us feel fresh again, but as soon as the clouds passed we felt dry to the core.  Happiness was a passing fancy.  In places where rain was frequent multitudes of our cousins fell.  And what did the humans care?  I suppose we are dispensable.  What tree has feelings?  All of us! That is who.  In our quiet edge of the world, we raged.  I was a very angry adolescent.  

Time passed again and soon news of humans caring soothed our wind burnt leaves.  I was older and a little wiser and I had put the past to rest.  I was beginning to learn to hope.  Hope for the humans to realize their wrongs.  Hope that more visitors would wind their ways through our paths.  Hope that I would live to see the ancient age of some of the many great trees around me.  

All of a sudden the gadgets some of the humans began wandering through with were enough to make me shake a leaf in their direction.  They walked through chattering on about whatever life had thrown their way.  The walk was no longer a peaceful thing.  It had become interrupted by gossip and shrill laughter if anyone walked by at all.  It had been so long since someone had stopped to look at me.  They noticed the river or any animal that a person could encounter in the woods.

A great loneliness spread like a plague and we all became quiet.  After so many years, we were running out of things to talk about.  Tragedy would give us something to talk about on occasion.  Wild fires ripping through the woods of distant places, floods, droughts.  All the things no one really wants to talk about.  So we just stopped talking.  Old age was making us more susceptible to the quiet the woods afforded.

I clung to my rock.  Deep down below it, my roots were contented in the soil.  It made me feel majestic on my little hill.  Ever so slightly taller than my fellows.  I felt special.  I grew my moss proudly, surrounded by great fellows with aged friendships that even stood the weather of time.  Years could pass and snow could fall but I continued to stand tall and I reached toward heaven.

I don't know when humanity began to look at us again.  But then suddenly there were tours through our midst.  Young people walking through and quietly talking amongst themselves, snapping photos, as they said, and rather enjoying themselves.  From my rock, I could watch them pass, gazing out at the river, some occasionally bothering to turn towards me for a second.

Then she came along.  She came in a group of people and lingered a little after they had moved on.  This girl noticed me.  I watched her eyes trace my branches as they bent toward the sky.  It had been cold and the drafty wind made her pull her coat tighter.  She had been showing her pictures to some of her friends in the group on her camera.  Backing up a few steps the young girl took a picture of the sun shining through my branches as I clung to my foundation.  She came and sat on my rock and looked out over the river from my point of view.  The picture I watched her take captured the bend in the river and the path below my very feet.  The moss was a vibrant green against the greying of my friends' branches.  The rocks were dark with damp and where our leaves had fallen the past autumn were patches of dark orange.  

I felt sad when she left to catch up with her friends, but she cast one last look back before she turned around the bend and out of sight.  I sighed into the wind with contentment.  But, for a while we trees had something more to talk about.  I especially recall that photograph.  It is engrained in me.  It reminded me of the beauty I've grown up in, refreshed the feeling of seeing something new.  And, it was as simple as a seeing a young girl's perspective of my point of view.



A Tree's View © 2012 Katherine Kovanda

Silent Flower Aliens

When it touched down, no one noticed.  Strolling through the park, couples marveled at the new beauty they assumed had been built over night for their viewing pleasure.  While the city grew up all around, the unexplained art weathered the years.  It stood tall, metallic red, a slight lean but a strong base.  The petals all spread in different directions reaching out like a flower, a silent whisper in the wind of the landscape.  The metallic structure stood for years without anyone bothering to take a closer look at it.  The flower needed no maintenance and the residents of the city grew to love it.

Years ago on a warm summer's night, a light flashed in the sky.  Many who saw it merely thought it was a large lightning strike in the oncoming storm.  Little did they know of the activity riding on that bolt.  A rush of activity was riding the electricity.  It was just enough to send the ship through the atmosphere.  It was close, without the last burst there wouldn't be any survivors to ever tell the tale.  As far as the Captain could tell there was still enough breathing material and all systems were still online.  Their mission was simply to observe and send back data.  There was no plan for a return mission.

Captain Overland had been in command for longer than anyone could remember.  He had survived the outbreak of the H2O virus in 54 and he could still remember the last time that the sea had boiled over on his home planet.  It had been centuries since the sea had settled.  He opted for this mission over some over-zealous younglings who expected space travel to be glamorous.  They didn't understand it was a one way trip this time.  Captain Overland had manned a crew of volunteers, a crew who would send transmissions across space until there was no one left to send the transmissions.  Perhaps not the best way to die, but certainly not extremely dull.

The ship, upon landing, had wired itself into all electronic data on the planet below.  As the years went by, the crew slowly had to readjust to the ongoing technological advances of the species they were observing.  Most of their jobs had boiled down to sifting through information that rolled in to determine what was worthy of transmitting back home.

As of the present, twenty-six of the crew members had passed, adding their knowledge and soul power to the ship's mainframe.  When the remaining five passed the interior of the ship would cease to be a working space.  It would deteriorate and turn into dull metal, the last breath robbing it of the ingredient to make it live.  All systems would shut down and in the span of about five minutes dissolve into nothing more than dust.  If anyone broke into the ship, there would be no evidence left.

Captain Overland had been on board the scientific team to help design the technology to self-destruct.  It had been a very long time ago.  Thinking about it now strained his memory.  It was all starting to cloud together.  Ten years ago it was all still crystal clear.  When he watched some of his memories back through the computer system onboard, he was sometimes surprised with images he didn't remember, faces he couldn't place.  He was getting old, even for a Zation.

More to the point, he could feel death circling in.  That's what his brain was telling him.  Any day now he would be the last Zation onboard and the beautiful ship he had lived on for the past few decades would decay and waste away in a matter of Earth minutes.  Lieutenant Strayard was already on Death's door.  She was breathing shallowly and hardly able to move from her quarters to the work room.

It was late in the year and cold was falling upon the planet outside.  It penetrated the outer skin of the ship and radiated through the halls.  According to the monitors it was getting colder faster than normal rates had calculated.  A note for the daily report back to Captain Overland's Receiver, his closest friend through the many years.

By the end of the day, the report had been sent and Lieutenant Strayard was carefully removed to the Soul Bay.  The few remaining said a Passage verse and sent her on her way.  Two of the others had already begun to show signs of the Decay.  Captain Overland gave them about a day left before he figured they would be saying the Passage verse to them as well.

When the Captain began to think about it, he became a little sad.  Death, the greatest waste of intelligence and experience was slowly taking away his crew.  But, this was the reason they had volunteered.  Each and every Zation on their present mission was there for the access to knowledge and the peaceful environment to Decay and die.  At least this way there was purpose in their death.

To die after such a long time wasn't such an insult.  To leave knowledge behind to the ship to broadcast one more report to the planet light-years away would be a fitting end.  The Captain figured in about three days’ time he would be the last Zation on a deserted ship.  The ship would continue to stand firm until the Earthians decided they no longer like its appeal and tore it down.  That was of no consequence to Captain Overland.  He did hope that Decay came quickly and he wouldn't be left alone for too long.

Decay was said to be a confusing time when a Zation's life began erasing itself from the memory of the being it was housed in.  It was a difficult time at best, having all a being's memories lifted from its brain.  To those who had practiced, Captain Overland was told that Decay can be a peaceful time of detachment and tranquility.  Although hardly anyone fought the Decay, it still wasn't an easy process.

As the Captain had inferred the next two shipmates were gone before the sun rose the following day and quickly the rest fell into Decay shortly thereafter.  If he hadn't performed the Passage verse so many times during his extensive life Captain Overland might have found it difficult to recite the verse all on his own.  It would also have been harder had the shipmates he came with not volunteered.  He had sailed on a shop of old-timers who had believed their times to Decay had been somewhere on the horizon.

A few hours after the last Passage verse had been spoken Captain Overland began to feel a fuzzy patch growing in his memories.  He couldn't quite remember home any more.  The glowing fields of metallic rush were fading, and then gone.  He could no longer remember his family, but it didn't bother him because he couldn't remember ever having one.  Memory after memory dissolved and was collected by the ship computers.

It was a sort of bliss.  The burdens of his past were lifted and spread into the computer to store and sort before its final transmission.  Captain Overland found himself wandering the hall down a path towards a large round door.  He could barely read anymore, but the sign on the door read ZAILGAN STRER: Passage Room.  A flicker of recognition lit in his brain and he opened the door to the cool chamber within.  The door swung shut and the lights in the room began to fade as his breathing diminished.

He closed his eyes to rest and heard a distant chant coming from deep within the ship.  The computer was saying the Passage verse for him.  He smiled and relaxed as the last of his memories disappeared and his lungs sighed.



 Silent Flower Aliens © 2012 Katherine Kovanda