Hello Friend

Or, An Invitation

Hello friend,

How are you? I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write to you. I’ve been busy setting everything up, and let me tell you, it’s just as nice and busy and active as I was hoping it would be. Anyway, I finally have time to sit down and write you a letter, whose purpose (I’ll spoil the ending) is to get you to come live here with me.

Remember the big oak we could see from the other side of the forest? We always thought it was so far away it must be impossible to get to. But after our conversation the other day, I started walking towards it. A beetle doesn’t move very fast, as well you know, but I marched onward and in much less time than I would have thought possible, I was staring up at its trunk. A trunk that’s been there for over a thousand years, Jerry, can you imagine?

So that was impressive enough. But then I started looking more closely, and I saw that the bark was covered in life. Lichens, fungi, other insects. And, of course, birds who were feeding on said insects (I’ll admit I got a bit scared here, but then I remembered I was still hidden by the vegetation and felt better).

But despite the danger of the birds, I was drawn to it, Jerry. I couldn’t get over how many people there were on this tree. My neighbors have since told me that there are a couple thousand different species who live here at least part-time, and over 500 who only live on oaks. And the tree doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, it specifically draws them in with some kind of sap that everyone likes. The idea, I think, is that if it has so many loyal customers, we’ll help it if an invading species comes. And let me tell you, it’s a good system.

And then there’s the wood and all of the insects who live in it, which means (unfortunately) that the woodpeckers love it here too. And then when the branches die and the woodpeckers leave and all that’s left is the holes they make, well then the bats move in, and all the detritivores and decomposers, and it just keeps going. There’s so many of us.

I say “us,” of course, because once I got here I never looked back. There’s so much movement all the time. It makes me feel young and spry, and even when I run away from a bird or something I never regret this decision. I told you when I left that I needed something new, and I think this is it.

The only thing that’s missing is you, Jerry. Won’t you come live here with me? I miss my friend, and I think you would love it here. We could run up and down the tree all day, and have fun, and it would be lovely.

As the poem goes,

“You’ll get my letter by the 17th —

Reply, or better,

Be with me —”

Love,

Sylvie