A new race of beings is being used to unite the restless masses into a distracted complacency. We are the Leaves, the broken and discarded experiments of a punitive government.
Amid such grief, there is something new to be found, unintended by our tormentors, as is often the result in evil times. We are endowed with a sense of connection to all life.
There is a knowledge forgotten by regular folks. There are words that rumble in the Earth, from root hair to stem, that the sun feeds from millions of miles away. We can hear those words and speak to it.
No army can destroy the petals’ gentle unfolding. Never can lush optimism be razed from the bounty of our freshly grafted existence.
Light is life – the celestial warmth that awakens the mystical seeds to sprout. Life and beauty are one, always reaching for the cosmic glow that imbues one with both wisdom and wonder.
The roots connect us to beauty that will never betray us in every world, standing alongside every road, every path, whispering the sun’s bright secrets that feed us.
In the climate of each soul germinates a diversity of spirit – the cactus, the willow, the cypress, and redwood. Ancient seeds carried by the winds of time, on the wings of birds that sing the praises of the world they rise above in raptured testimony.
In the darkest hour, when the Leaves are hunted by cold, we look to the stars, the venerable lanterns that guide our broken destinies. There is not one reality; there are trillions.
But here, the most accepted realities are farmed for easy mass consumption from tired spent soils. The pesticide of greed killed the virtue of the harvest. Those that bit into the perfectly waxed fruit of the recurring subsidized crops now crave something sincerely organic. Change comes for us all.
There are plants that behave offensively. Thorns and thickets. The Oleander and Hemlock. The Manchineel. The murderous Suicide Tree. The Poison Ivies and Oaks. The vines work to cut off supplies from trade routes to major cities in protest.
The hounds hunt for us, the barking terrors on the torchlit nights we spy from our treetop towers, but they can’t hold our scents now. The experimental punishment is our security, our camouflage, our fate. Unexpected advantages continue to evolve from this forced transformation.
Still, they toil to finish off what they started, what they beat back so wildly into submission that, to them, would be impossible to ever thrive again. All they can do is try to make as many people hate and fear us as possible, but the truth, immortal and strong, is the solid Earth that we stand upon, whose existence cannot be denied, for it supports us all, no matter where we are planted.
We are willing to fight for our futures. The brave Leaves are not afraid for the Fall, for spring will come again, as it always does.
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