Someone or something you can’t communicate with through writing (a baby, a pet, an object) can understand every single word you write today, for one day only. What do you tell them?
Your leaves are weathered but I know you’ve had tens of thousands more die, fall, and regenerate through the years. Now, in their auburn, cherry colored state I want to talk to you if you have a moment. Who are we kidding, your roots have held you for centuries. How about a chat? What’s that? You’re less than a century? I beg your pardon, I did not mean to offend.
You’ve seen and heard of many battles won and lost in your day correct? What do you make of mankind? I’m but a human. My days will likely be 80 years if I’m lucky. I move around ignorant of so much. I appreciate your stoic silence, I’ll bet you know a lot. What do you think of the KKK? Don’t we humans look stupid hating and killing each other? Do you fear death? Terrorism?
I’ll ask you to forgive us humans. We cut you down even though you’re our oxygen. We do it despite. I know that makes zero sense. We really do need you and your ilk. We hope you continue to grow. In fact, we count on it. When we return from our conquests we seek peace like the kind you offer. You’re a deep aesthetic symbol in our human consciousness. You mean so much to us, please watch over us.