I believe trees generate wind and rain when one tree decides to move, a forest of motion catches on-- each year Hoh arouses twelve feet of rain. I claim that trees communicate, xylem and phloem moving up, down, sideways through the roots to pass on messages like homing pigeons. I stand under a canopy of chlorophyll to drench my senses, the arrow of ongoing years now a circle, the lifespan of trees re-constructing time, human age an instant cycling around millennia. I read trees, perennial libraries spilling life from top to bottom, carving identities onto trunks like headstones to claim ancestry and progeny. I hear the susurrus of trees in my dreams, whispers of hope in the very names of these: ginkgo fir juniper elm chestnut pine oak aspen sycamore willow redwood linden beech mulberry redbud olive I want to walk on fungal duff.
Thank you for this poem. I have been to Hoh, and I love forests. Your poem took me away from the desert where I live for some time.