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  1. Sixteen years ago we precipitate, our first ring wide and fat. We think that we will live forever.
  2. Nine years ago, things get lean—the thinnest ring, sharp, almost non-existent
  3. Eight years ago; a volcanic eruption, turning our insides black. Outside, meristems continue to grow and grow. We think we’ll keep spreading outwards while still laying down our roots
    1. Little did we know, rot’s already set in.
  4. Six years ago, we call a truce. We build wooden idols upon a rocky precipice and think we are doing okay. (If you consider careful choreography around our pain-points a version of okay.)
  5. Trees talk, even if we don’t; we communicate with sap, blood-red and sticky, and also
    1. xylem
    2. phloem
    3. mycorrhizal roots.
      1. We look like we’re thriving when in reality, we’re trapped.
  6. Three years ago, a crack appears, splitting us open like the skin of an overripe fruit
  7. One year ago, with less love and more objectivity, we analyze the rings of our history, charting the excesses and deficiencies of each year
  8. Today, we called it quits.

i. I give you back a different kind of ring.

  1. Trees scream when they suffer, don’t you know? A high frequency sound.(1)


    1. Inaudible to human ears.