Look, I love trees. I can’t, I won’t, hide it. Even though it makes people think I’m weird–but I’m used to people thinking I’m weird. I mean that’s the norm now and people thinking me normal would be weird and what am I saying now? I’ve tangled myself in my rhetoric and let’s just just end this paragraph.
So what I’m saying is I love trees.
The cherry tree in my backyard is one of my constant sources of comfort.
I had a favourite tree on campus. It’s trunk had been defaced by some asshole but it was stoic and it grew and though thin, it was flourishing. When I went back after Spring Break in my final year of undergrad, some bastards had cut it down and replaced it with freaking pavement. I was inconsolable. Yes, you can too mourn trees.
It was a sweltering day and I was hungry but I had to take a picture of this tree growing downtown. It is glorious.
I also spend a significant portion of my time standing under trees. Because that’s the thing to do.
Happy Birthday, Earth.