A wonderful breeze blew through the forest today. My tender spring leaves relished the cool air, a relief from the dry heat that’s been ever so prevalent these years. I checked up on the robin nest in my upper boughs; the mother recently had eggs, and at their home it’s my job to keep them safe and warm. I can’t wait to meet the younglings, even if their continuous chirping may ruffle my leaves a bit. Patience is a skill well practiced by us oaks, not like those careless weeping willows. They let the wind do whatever it wants to their branches- how rude for the creatures that live there. I don’t understand how they deal with the constant swaying and instability.

Dawn brought beautiful skies once more- soft violets and sleepy rouge painted the heavens into a masterpiece. Like most recent days, the muted vrum of human vehicles grew louder as the night slipped away. My friends and I have noticed how the gray smoke makes the forest life cough and sputter, so we’ve put our best efforts into clearing the smog. But alas, I think all it’s doing is slowing their deaths. Ever since the humans have been cutting down my brethren, it has gotten harder as more and more responsibility has been handed to the remaining trees. Still, we try our best to help.

Speaking of humans, two little ones ran past me today. Their laughter sounded like rustling reeds by a river. They found my sycamore friend, and giggled as one helped the other into the branches. I have no doubt my friend enjoyed their presence; we love to bring joy to those who meet us. 

I saw a mother deer with her fawn in the evening. As they ambled past my base, a crow sitting on my crown startled them by calling for their partner. Luckily, they were able to make it home without much trouble. The fireflies had appeared to light their way, while crickets chirped a hailing symphony for the night.

It was in the middle of this peaceful twilight that I received root shaking news. The whispers of a fox told me that the humans weren’t far away, and had the horrible iron-teethed machines they used for killing other trees. A nearby birch worried it’s branches, and I had to calm them down or else they would wake the birds nested on them. If this was to come to us, then we can do nothing but let it happen. Hopefully, the robins on my branch would be old enough to fly away when they came. Otherwise, more unnecessary lives would be lost.