Roots, part ii

She had been rooted here for a long time. She had grown tall with the trees, stretching her arms to the sky, her feet sinking into the earth. She was happy. At least, she hadn’t noticed she was sad. Much time had passed. The neighbor had gone and taken his stereo with him, the stucco walls crumbled, the hills burned.

The burning was a painful thing for her to watch. The short scrub bushes died in a flash and a blaze as the fire tore its way over the hills, trampling the faded brown and the muted green and transforming them into ashy grey earth and broken tangles of charred black wood. Her beloved hills were ravaged and there was nothing she could do. So she stood and watched and wept leafy tears.

Only the palm trees remained. They still surrounded her yard, swaying over the ruins of the walls. She had loved the palm trees, their quiet chatter among themselves and with the wind. They had grown tall and slender, their hair cascading over their shoulders. They danced with the wind and would not speak to her. Everyone had gone or grown or crumbled. She was alone in the land she loved so well.