Once upon a time, there was a forest that didn't know where to look for its good river. And then the rain began to fall on all its trees. From the youngest oaks to the oldest elms, there was no sign of the madness of renewal in this beautiful forest.
But one day, this strange downpour, with no mercy for anyone, but absolutely no one, began to disrupt the almost century-old functioning of the forest.
It must be said that the forest wasn't very old, it was based on elaborate principles for destroying trees that didn't follow the all-light directive at the center of its small, but nonetheless very demanding, clearing.
The light illuminated the few flowers growing in the center of this clearing. They were pink, blue, a little yellow of late, but also quite dark at the pistil level. The flowers were demanding more and more sunlight, depriving the trees that provided them with food and good drainage on a daily basis, while at the same time urging them to water them more and more with their benevolent humus.
But these trees had no leaves, and were completely helpless in the face of the madness of a circle of flowers. Whoever had turned their backs on them had not seen that they were completely naked, from winter to summer, and with no need for spring or autumn, as their sap was contaminated by a strange liquor injected from the base of their trunks.
The flowers no longer wanted to be encumbered by these wonderful trees, because they reminded them too much that their existence depended on their own. So, in order not to answer to anyone else, they turned a blind eye, demanding more and more light to satisfy their desire for beauty and to belong to a very private circle of very privileged flowers.
But once again, nature didn't see it that way, and began to integrate new data into her own little DNA. After all, Mother Nature doesn't take kindly to backroom dealings and ill-tempered plots such as this one against her own creation. So she pulled out all the stops and invited her brother the rain and her uncle the storm to the festivities.
The storm is never too far away, when dead trees must disappear to be reborn a little further on under better auspices.
And that's what was happening in this strange forest, because after a month of ignoring their death, the trees finally evaporated. They were swept away by the flood of nonsense from our famous flowers, which everyone found so beautiful under the false sunlight of their useless intelligence.
Three times Mother Nature had warned them:
She had given them her hand to show them the little fairies of spring rain, who could no longer irrigate the fields of nature beside them.
She had shown them the faces of fear of the little child, who no longer knew where to hide to escape the demon of Halloween night.
And finally, she'd shown them the coming of that strange bird, with its big elephant ears, to warn them that it would end up trampling them with its rebellious ardor at its own disappearance, pre-programmed by flowers like them.
But to no avail, they continued to prevaricate over their most beautiful petals, always to be made to disappear under the blush of the reality they had invented. That is, until one day, when the famous uncle of the all-out storm swept away the last trunk. It brought to light the very real light, this one, no longer of a flowery glade but of a battlefield surrounded by useless deaths to the madness of a beauty of a circle of flowers now quite destitute.
Because without trees, there's no food or defense against the wind, and without leaves, there's no humus to be reborn each spring, so what did our beautiful flowers have left?
Nothing, absolutely nothing, except perhaps a small wave of madness as we watch them nowadays wiggling on the graves of these famous trees. Those who had asked for nothing more than to live together without being driven to the madness of their own existence.
But these flowers, with their delicately unnamed poison or other fabulous cover-up, killed almost all the trees that still believed in their beautiful promises.
Now it's a matter of rebuilding further away, or right next door. But it doesn't matter in the end, because by the time they're out of breath from the storm, they'll see that other forests have already taken over from their folly to start a new community of flowers and trees. And they'll have no quarrel with the exterminators of natural beauty they once were.
So I wanted to share with you the folly of men, excuse me flowers. Those who think that living by their mere existence as dilettantes to the truth, about nature and its expectations to endure forever, could thus be the result of their actions.
We must never forget that nature doesn't like it when we alter its structure, so greatly created to enable the whole of humanity to meet its needs with relative ease. Mother Nature is not in favor of overtaxing her assets, and she'll let us know soon enough, when the storms from her bountiful pocket drive out structures and habitats useless to her pursuit of life in the future.
So I'm both frightened and curious to understand how all this is going to be structured. But what I do know is that many trees have already restarted new forests, this time in symbiosis with their flowers, which should in no way decide the future of an entire forest. Especially if the tree species don't necessarily agree to cohabit with the most exotic of mushroom killers, necessary for the growth of the most beautiful of fertilizers for our shrubs.
This is a tale about nature, but let's not forget that we're part of it. So whether she's overheated, out of control or just plain exhausted at seeing us take charge, she knows full well that in the end she's the one who decides.
But what does she decide?
Well, who stays and who goes. And in the case of our flowers, it's more likely to be the departure, and a priori the extinction of the species by a kind of animal documentary on logging and its consequences if Mother Nature isn't invited to the meetings that concern her most.
So, good day to all the flowers, who still think they have to exist without trees or the delicate humus of a forest of many and varied trees. The one that offers its most beautiful, when the light doesn't shine through to burn minds with its conspiracy theory against nature itself.
Yes, a creation of this age and calibre can't be destroyed by the madness of a few flowers who thought they were smarter than nature herself. But let's not forget: nature created them, so she knows them better than they know themselves.
Copyright © . Tous droits réservés.
Nous avons besoin de votre consentement pour charger les traductions
Nous utilisons un service tiers pour traduire le contenu du site web qui peut collecter des données sur votre activité. Veuillez consulter les détails dans la politique de confidentialité et accepter le service pour voir les traductions.