Moving through the forest he realized how dead it really was.
Skipping from root to root he only heard his footsteps in the otherwise deafening silence.
The roots seemed to hold together the ground as they twisted outward, searching for other roots to grab hold of. Turing the ground into a mosaic of twisting and turning wood frozen over shallow crystal waters.
The trees had long died, but they nevertheless keep up the illusion of life. Every cell intact, only sleeping, frozen in time. Destined to never go away.
Standing as proud as they were empty. Without leaves, straight without bending. Nothing would decompose them. Destined to stand there until wind and rain eventually turned them to dust, just to glide silently down into the clear water and mixing with the black sand below. Making the water just a bit deadlier.
The trees are a disease among themselves. The water contained the poison. Poison so deadly nothing could survive, nothing except the trees themselves. They were the once producing the poison. No animal could eat the plentiful bark. No termite could enjoy the sweet wood. It was all a deadly, but silent waist-land. Slowly growing at the edges. like a tumor it spread.
Survival of the fit, but persistence of the pure.
Written by Gerhard
19/04/2018
