The talking trees

Modifié le : 2019/07/27

Trees talk to us some­times. Their heads plunged into the ground of our cities, they swing, even in win­ter, their skin­ny feet and excit­ed by the wind. They talk to us because we are like them, like those ostrich­es, feath­ers in the air, eyes buried in opaque considerations.

A tree is trapped in its land, its con­crete, its city. Its lone­li­ness is no less of a decoy. It was proven that trees are aware of their fel­low-crea­tures, that they are spread­ing, upside down, nets of sub­stances, that they find many strat­a­gems to trans­mit genes, promis­es. They survive.

Trees talk to each oth­er, we speak to them. We’re talk­ing to each oth­er. But the trees do not wage war on each oth­er, they do not seem to invent lies, they accept their fate to such an extent that, if they are cut down, no one will appear to be offend­ed, not even a rus­tle of branch­es in the oth­er trees.


I’m mak­ing this up.

What do I know about that ? I said above that trees talk to each oth­er. Then they know every­thing about them, their holo­causts, so many trees that have become mov­able, paper, skin, fire.

But they survive.

I would like the trees to real­ly talk to me.