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The Cedars of Lebanon were gasping. Their broad, horizontal branches reached out desperately; their roots, dug into limestone, were thinning. They’d been sacrificed in the past to the gods of Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, and the early temples of the Jewish people, in whose “Song of Solomon” they were compared to the beauty of the beloved. But now it was Nature herself, harried by her human devils, giving rise to the trees’ alarm. The cedars needed the cool temperature of their Middle East environs to thrive, but this devilishly warming climate was leaving them in the lurch. The groves strove to survive by migrating upwards, but the mountains above them just might not be high or cool enough.
These trees were strong and they grew slowly. It took a good century for their striking shapes to manifest, their trunks to thicken, their branches to spread parallel to the ground, sometimes solo and sometimes cross-hatching in groups, creating interesting patterns that scientists could spend a lifetime studying. But all patterning was breaking down now. They were eager to make the adjustment to their new circumstances, but they were running out of time.
Nearly 2,000 miles away, the forests of Swedish Lapland, inside the Arctic Circle, were on fire. The ground and flora weren’t anywhere as wet as they’d been. Denmark and Scotland, California and the Pacific Northwest were suffering extraordinary conflagrations, as well. The trees had put out the call to their brethren. Like their sister species across the globe, they were all crying out to the humans, but far too few of that species had the ears to hear them. If the trees but spoke the human languages, they would consider the term “tree hugger” an honorific and give heart to any and all who cared to take note of their plight.
As it was, what could they do but add their voices to the symphony conducted with myriads of variations by the Soul of the World? Hurry up! Wake up! It’s time!
