Slivers

When he was six years old
his family moved from the crowded city
to the stillness of the countryside, a
kid once raised by tall smokestacks,
a constant stream of chatter in the back of his head, and
a society where everyone is no one at the same time,
thrown to new shades of artificial green
and reality. 

For a while
he missed the constant talking in his head,
forming a grey stream of nothing in the back of his mind
but he adapted
and he learned to speak the language of the trees.
With no one within a thirty-mile radius
the boy resorted to spending time outside.
When swimming in the brook next to his house
he talks with the minnows that 
move alongside him,
learn his secrets and 
tell him the secrets of the universe 
to their limited knowledge. 
When running in the fields of his backyard
he's careful to not step on the flowers 
because their stories matter to him
and who would want to take away life so perfect,
so beautiful?
When he sits in the forest, 
he listens to the wind
carrying the messages of the trees
broadcasting to the world 
all the fear they hold in their trimmed branches
because if they grow to their fullest extent
they'll be burned by the fires.
The boy listens
and he does not ignore
because the trees have been around for longer than one can imagine
and they've seen things
they don't dare tell the world.

The trees,
they've seen their friends felled for firewood,
they've seen their family burned from one stray match,
they've seen their world be taken for granted.
When humanity has cut down the last tree,
intoxicated the last river,
caught the last fish,
won the last political debate,
when humanity sits atop its golden throne 
that we've longed to own for so long
will we realize
we can't eat money or pride or ego?

Will we realize
we had all we needed
lying right in front of us?

The trees,
they know the answer.

Would they dare save us?