To Treetops (first letter)

I can’t believe your days are numbered.
You’ve been here all along. You’re still waiting us out. You were governing in the days before we were human. You’ve waited until we finally vacated your most intimate parts, your most private spaces.
You’ve been letting us run around below you for so long now. It’s as if our heads are cut off — as if you’re all convinced we’ll bleed out eventually. Now we’re flying past and walking amongst you, over you and through you.
Would there be any patience in the world if you weren’t in it? Is there a more profound reminder of the interconnectedness of things? Could something else ever replace you?
For now you remain on guard, between the earth and the heavens, from life to death and back again, from darkness to sunrise, high noon to twilight, witnessing each return, from something to nothing to something again.
They say some of us still desire you as a refuge (hermits and martyrs, activists and nostalgic anti-modern types). They say isolated bands of us have remained surrounded by your majesty since coming down to earth (forgoing technological accelerations of our cultural evolution in your presence).
We’re selling each other glides through your elders, on rip cords and causeways, while drunk, while carefree, while courting, while decompressing, while hoping in passing to effortlessly gain your trust, loyalty and understanding.
You line the street I live on. You’re like magnificent jewels in the crown of a celestial giant. You can make people seem like lice on the scalp of the world.
I look up and through you on the way home, on the way to work, in the midst of wandering aimlessly, while thinking in pace with the rhythm of my steps and the sway of your shadows.
Even now, in states of panic, despair or emptiness, I make an emotional assumption — I invest in a sense of you beyond any conscious reasoning. Your presence feels protective and permanent.
I take comfort in your being here and there, out and about, overhead…
I’d felt this way for so long before realizing it — before ever expressing my appreciation.
Please don’t dissuade me now.
jeremy