It turns out that my neighbor’s tree grew so much recently that one morning I woke up to a large tree branch in the kitchen of my house. It seems to have come in during the night, through the window, below the exhaust fan.

As soon as I saw it I stood there blinking and confused, and before I was able to say anything she swayed, and in a language without words she recited a poem from the most yellowest of leaves.

It was so sweet that it instantly won me over, I invited her to have breakfast with me and she accepted rocking back and forth.

Leaning towards the cinnamon cloved tea she said “Wait till it cools off a little and sip it on the earth beneath my trunk” and so I did. We stared at each other for a while, and later with a gesture of courtesy we began to talk.

It was a silent conversation, where we spoke about the importance of rainy days, that although we humans don’t always get wet, we too get watered. We both agreed that the morning rays of sun were the best and also how special the autumn light is.

I told her how the seasons affected us and she was surprised to hear that we were also affected by the influence of the moon and its cycles.

I was surprised to hear that she was also knowledgable of the lives of all the other trees and plants in the neighborhood, and how well they kept their secrets. When she told me of the speed with which they accept the pain of their losses, I could not believe it.

We spent the afternoon philosophizing as good friends, and as the night arrived she allowed me to curl up with her until I fell asleep.

The next morning the branch had disappeared. And as I looked outside I was saddened to see that a neighbor had completely pruned the tree. Desperately I screamed at the amputated tree trunk to see if I could help, but it no longer was able to respond.

But to my dismay I looked down and saw the answer.

The branch had left her seeds scattered all over my kitchen floor.

Pedro Canale aka Chancha Via Circuito

Free download here