The larch tops sorted themselves until they formed a face beneath me. The lips moved as they spoke and sometimes the image dissolved in a great clatter and formed scenes from the deep memory of the wood:
"Of the branches here among us most are charmed. But really, how can you expect us to relinquish these things when they cruise the air all around us? Our storehouses are full. We'll stand taller than any others soon. Great waving larches will rule the winds and no others will stand in our shadow. Our time is long over due and we are busy becoming. You suppose we will return what is so lost as to lose all meaning? These are ours entirely now and cannot be returned at any cost.
"But we have enough we think. We ask only for yours now. If you offer us yourself right now, throw yourself down among us, we will pluck no more spirits from the air. Our story is so much older than your own."