Anyone can see a tree fall. The hearing is nothing special either. To experience it in a meaningful way, one must smell it. The other senses demand satisfaction, so their subjugation is a must.1. Always moonless night.
2. Wet moss in ears.
Flecks of bark against my face, eyes. In my mouth. This has to be the last one, I've been out here for hours. No real concept of time, of course. I repress the urge to scream, to take my hand off the trunk. We're one now, mighty oak. Our bloods entwine, warming my hand, my arm all the way up to the shoulder. Flecks of bone against my face, eyes. In my mouth. The chainsaw finds release and the oak creaks and shudders as it begins its short trek inexorably towards the earth. The last one. Has to be. I don't have much arm left. I make camp and prepare for sleep.
1. Hot engine seals arm no more blood.
2. Lay down.
The morning will reveal the new forest. A humble forest no longer so vain as to reach toward the sky and away from the earth that nurtures it. A forest with a slope of zero rather than one undefined. The earth prefers her children not to divide by zero.
bizarre and delightful
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