Puddle: A Tale for the Curious

by Elena "Birch" Bozzi

  Silence came over the circle, like a calm before the storm.

  Hawthorn felt the atmosphere and called for a vote, “Any nay?”

  The silence continued. I wanted to shout. I saw Apple wanting to shout.

  Rowan whispered I’m itchy to the nearby Maple, who ignored Rowan.

  “How about yay?”

  The rustling was deafening as rustling can be. Burn the enemy.

  “I have to go,” I whispered to Puddle and hurried out with no ado.

  *~*

  Beppu floated into Nimupara’s grotto.

  “What are you watching?” she asked.

  “Children playing with one of the most powerful forces in any universe.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did Birch’s siblings take Crataegus out of her room again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember when you sent Puddle to Earth to try to get that meeting kick started?”

  “I influenced his waterjump. I should have brought him here first. I should have said something. He thought it was his choice to go. He thought he was just exploring. But I made sure his entrance to Earth was near Birch. I thought that would be sufficient. They jumped to Veorda before the meeting could take place, and Puddle kept Quercus with him.”

  “Well, they will be on their way here soon enough.”

  “We all have our own definitions of soon enough.”

  *~*

  I wandered without seeing.

  The trees’ solution felt wrong. I didn’t know the situation well enough to add anything useful. It just felt wrong. Fire was useful in many situations, like for the survival of the prairie chickens, who couldn’t get to their food without small, regular fires that cleared the way. However, sometimes fire burned too much.

  I trusted the trees. I loved them and intimately knew the beauty they brought to the world, to all worlds. I was one of them, even as I was human.

  But Apple had paused. I had seen doubt. There had to be a better solution.

  The rest were so sure. And I loved them. How could something you loved be wrong?

  My thoughts bumped against each other in my mind, as my blind eyes followed my feet wherever they stepped. Eventually, thunder called my eyes to look up. I was in the grassy hill area that held milkweed and sweetgrass. The sky yelled again, and I yelled back. My energy buzzed, and I released it with a primal scream.

  The sky wasn’t having any mouthy replies. The fat drops of rain soaked me immediately. A nearby pile of boulders provided enough of an overhang for a temporary shelter, like a shallow recess cave.

  All was safe. Nobody was building any fires in that rain.

  A clump of grass shivered behind a boulder. I went to investigate. Puddle and I had seen a similar mobile clump of grass when we climbed that tor.

  “Are you one of the dangerous invasive grasses?” I asked the creature.

  It stared at me with rooty eyes.

  “You must be. There aren’t many other sorts of grassy clump creatures that I’ve seen. Are you really that dangerous?”

  It sniffed me and tickled my hand with its feathery ears.

  “Where are the rest of you?”

  It bobbed its head and lunged at me.

  “Iyek!”

  But the lunge was playful. I bobbed my head back at it, and lunged. It ran around to the other side of the rock, and bobbed its head before charging back.

  We played, then watched the warm, summery rain. Each drop was a faraway story that the clouds told the ground. I loved this grassy creature, who wanted to play and hide behind rocks. My heart filled with conflicting loves, and tears leaked out of my eyes in frustration. What could I do? I decided to bring this creature to the Festival, and ask the trees if they would call another meeting. Just in case.

  I often sang to myself to calm down. I sang to myself, then, and to the grassy creature.

  The rain provided a beat. A song with words that I had never heard sublimated from deep inside me. The words felt like an ancient language. They held oceans and mountains, the breath of life and sparks of love. The words carried infinite cycles and infinite mystery. I sang to my grassy friend, to the Universe, to Life and Death and Life again.

  Fear of pain, and fear of fear dissipated as I sang. I sang through my true and vibrant Self. I sang through curiosity and awe. The sounds vibrated with healing love and loving salutations for the light of life inside every being.

  My deepest, secret heart sang out to the magic held in every instant of eternity. Eternity sang back.

  I found my song, my heart, and I would sing it for the rest of my life.

  *~*

  Birch had hurried from the Stone Circle like lightning. The clouds soon answered with thunder. Everyone else moved more slowly, like cold vascular bundles. The vote had been fiery. Choices had been made. Yet, nobody rushed to grab kindling.

  Wind caused Puddle’s hair to wriggle like a bunch of cat tails. The grassy invaders burned through his mind. He had met a fishy grass creature when he and Birch climbed that tor. It was cute and rather clumsy. There was nothing malignant about it. Then again, cute and innocent could be completely separate topics.

  Puddle sat next to Elder.

  “Do you play music, little sapling?” asked the tree.

  “I do,” answered Puddle. “Your playing the other day spoke directly to my soul.”

  “We have extra flutes back at camp,” replied Elder. “Come. Let us join our styles.”

  Puddle followed the Elder back to its grove. A basket held hollowed branches with strategic holes. Each flute had its key. Puddle picked one that called his attention, then he sat down on a rock among the Elders.

  His mind was broken in half. The trees had been good to him. They shared their food, stories, and songs. He wanted to go along with them, but their choice to burn the grasses felt needlessly destructive. He blew into the flute with breath that asked for clarity. The notes that floated out filled the air with answers just out of reach.

  The breeze was the right speed that when the Elder held a branch just so, the air that blew over particular lenticels caused musical vibrations. The power of those subtle vibrations caused Puddle to alter his playing. The resulting harmony seeded hope in all who could hear.

  *~*

  Rain splashed out of the clouds, wild as wolves. The soil drank, and distilled pure life out into the world in the form of scent. It reminded me of the power of mutualism. When things cooperated, not necessarily out of necessity, everyone won. Even the onlookers.

  The grassy creature had a natural shovel apparatus on its belly. It scraped the soil at the edge of the cave with its shovel belly, and pushed stones around to make walls. Water filled the creature’s pool, and it splashed inside with the joy of kittens in a yarn ball box.

  How could anyone think to hurt something so filled with joy something that intentionally brought real happiness to itself, and thus to the world?

  I sang the song of my deepest heart to the creature. The words kept changing, but the essence stayed true. The faucet of the sky turned itself off, but hadn’t seen a plumber in a while, so it still dripped a bit. I scooped the creature up, without resistance, and started the trek back to the trees.

  “Please!” I called, as I neared the heart of the Festival. “Please, Council, join me in the Stone Circle! Please, please, please!”

  I waited while everyone showed up. The forest spread my plea. The trees sensed my need was real. I didn’t wait long.

  “My friends,” I began, “look closely at this creature. This is what you want to destroy. This causes your fear.”

  I set the creature on the ground, and it sniffed around. It scratched a hole in the soil and placed a seed in the hole. It sat on the seed like a hen on eggs, and made a purring, cooing sound. Sweetgrass began to poke out around the creature’s sides. Satisfied, it sniffed onward.

  I looked around the circle. The trees were stumped. This creature was an invader, yet it helped na
tive species grow. It asked for nothing in return. It didn’t seem to even notice anyone was watching it.

  “These grasses do take up space. They do use resources. As you can see, it gives back just as readily. I’ve watched this one play. It makes the world a better place with its joy. I think it is more complex than we realize. I challenge you to rethink your decision.”

  Apple came to my defense, or perhaps my saying something strengthened its voice enough to speak up, “We are comfortable in our cycles, maybe to the extent that we have become stagnant. Let us remember old Chestnut. The blight got each and every one, because Chestnut decided that it was at the end of its evolution. It refused genetic diversity, refused to adapt, and monocropped itself to death. Once one got the blight, it spread worse than wildfire. We need variance. We were blind to these Wreets during our observations. We wanted to see them as invaders, so that’s what we saw. However, I feel this change is a good one. Let us make a different choice than Chestnut. Let us adapt. I propose we welcome the Wreets.”

  Puddle stood up, “Not everything that is nonnative is invasive. I am one who travels. This lifestyle was forced upon me at first, until I realized I am no lost wanderer. I embrace my nomadic life. Each turn adds more curiosities. I am my full self when I explore. Perhaps these creatures are passing through, too. What if their purpose is to shake things up and herd on?”

  The grassy creature’s feather ears pricked up. It sniffed like a hungry city deer that knew corn was on the way. It hopped over to Rowan, who stayed patiently perplexed. The creature climbed Rowan’s trunk, and sniffed again. Its proboscis licked at Rowan, who shivered.

  I stepped close. The creature’s tongue pulled shiny, green bugs from the tree’s innards.

  “I know this bug,” I whispered. “I saw it here before, but didn’t realize. It’s one of the most destructive bugs in my area. It’s called an Ash borer, and it’s in the process of wiping out all the Ash it can. Rowan, I know that you’re not related to the Ash family, so this bug should have left you alone. However, if it has no other food, it might work with what it can find.”

  Fear shook the leaves of the trees in the Circle. I heard ripples of shivering leaves expand as the other trees of the forest listened carefully.

  The grassy creature hopped around Rowan’s limbs, sniffing and licking. It bobbed its head when it was done, and hopped to the ground.

  “I’m not itchy anymore,” proclaimed Rowan. Rowan turned to the Wreet. “Thank you. If I’m reading everyone right, you are welcome to stay as long as you want.”

  The rustling turned agreeable.

  Rowan continued, “Please, Wreet, gather your family. I know other Rowans are feeling the borer.”

  The Wreet bobbed its head, and lunged at Rowan.

  “It’s playing,” I explained.

  “We have little time to play. These bugs are dangerous.”

  I wanted to remind the tree that it had voted to eradicate the grass when it thought it was a nuisance. That wouldn’t have helped the situation, though.

  Instead, I said, “One characteristic of knowing it’s too late is that your bark would fall off. Ask your trees. Has any of their bark fallen off? Good. We still have time.”

  “Let’s go to the Wreets,” suggested Puddle. “That seems to be how they work. They sense the bugs, and that puts them into action.”

  Rowan agreed, and called upon a few of its most itchy fellows. We didn’t want to overwhelm the ones who could help the best.

  *~*

  New understandings brightened the fire that evening. It was the last night of the Festival. The trees would be parting to go back to their home forests and other loved ones. The rain had cleared the air, and only the brightness of the moon dimmed the stars.

  A new dance step entered the arena. The trees called it the Bob and Lunge. My favorite part was watching the trees learn the motions. Broken twigs blanketed the dance circle, mostly because of the lunge. They were slowly getting the hang of it.

  Caht appeared as a star in the evening, like he had always been there. It was just the light and my eyes that had to adjust in order to notice.

  “Hello Caht.”

  Brewl.

  “Did you have a nice day?”

  An ear flicked. He leaned in, and whispered, “The way through Rowaise Pass holds hot springs that will relieve your tired muscles.”

  “Oh yeah! That sounds lovely.”

  “Follow the Turtle on the other side of the hills.”

  “How will I find the Turtle?”

  “Don’t worry. The Turtle will find you. Then, follow the deer path.”

  “Thank you for inviting Puddle and me to these springs.”

  “You helped the grassy things out. Cats like grass. It helps us digest. The grasses that grow on them taste purrfect.”

  “Cool. Cheers to mutual appreciation. Want to dance?” I looked at the circle, and back at Caht, who had disappeared like a cloud before stars.

  *~*

  Mountain Song

  Puddle and I awoke, charged with life, and ready to accept any challenge ahead.

  The cleanup nature at the end of any Festival imbued the atmosphere. The nice thing about a Festival with trees is that most of the things that usually needed cleaning up were made of natural, biodegradable elements, and didn’t count as matter out of place.

  Farewell hugs and tears were passed around. I learned tree tears were made of sap. The Birches and I would meet up again.

  Puddle loved the idea of searching for the hot springs just as much as I did, so we headed out through the hills a little after noon.

  The foothills took up a good chunk of the day.

  Caht was right. The Turtle would find us.

  A massive half sphere of rock sat at the entrance of what I assumed was Rowaise Pass. Another protrusion looked like a squarish turtle head that munched the foothills like they were cabbage.

  Upon closer inspection, which took longer than we thought because hiking in unfamiliar lands expanded space, we found a cavern under the Turtle’s left armpit.

  “We go through here?” I asked Puddle.

  “I do not know. We may as well explore now that we are here. This, at least, appears to be a worthwhile detour.”

  The mouth of the cavern held enough sunlight to see the flat stones of mica schist sparkling on the ground. Glam rock cave. I felt underdressed.

  Further, but not nearly as far as I had hoped, the cavern swallowed the sunlight. We kept on by feeling along the arm bones of the Turtle. Drips from the ceiling told us puddles existed.

  My sense of time stayed in the sunlit armpit of the Turtle as we felt our way onward. We fumbled through the timeless dark until we didn’t, because the ground was dry and even until it wasn’t. I stepped off a rock and fell into eternal oblivion, which lasted several centimeters until my feet landed in water.

  I had disturbed the peace. Light exploded from my splash in slow motion. Blues, greens, and purples rippled from my feet, and showed us a room that might have been proportional to the stomach of the Turtle. Happily, the water was not stomach acid. It smelled of stone, and a refreshing dampness. I smiled at the science of it all, and the nature of the electrons that gave off light when they calmed from agitation.

  The ripples in the water rose up the sides of the cave. The ceiling held galaxies made of glow worms. Strings of auroral pearls hung from stalactites, which dripped mineral-rich water into the sparkling pool that drenched my feet. Bioluminescent fungi grew in rainbow clumps around the walls. I wouldn’t have been surprised if DJ Glow Worm had started to spin a hip beat.

  The ankle deep water was cold enough to keep us moving, while the amazing glowing gut flora of the Turtle kept our pace slow. Eventually, we came to a solid wall with a sunbeam winking from above. We climbed boulders toward the sunbeam, and exited the Turtle’s shell. The deer trail that Caht had foretold meandered into the forest.

  “This is more of a deer highway than a trail,” commented Puddle.
/>   “Good,” I agreed. “We probably won't get lost.”

  *~*

  Numerous cavern-shelters, cloaked in moss, hid among craggy rocks. Balsam Firs lined the deer highway with their equally mossy fallen limbs. The emerald beauty of all that moss overtook my senses, from visual to olfactory, and… yes, even touch. It was spongy, yet pokey. My fingers felt the vibrant majesty of ancient lineages of rhizomic genealogy. Up close, the moss whispered stories of the sort of love that grew without roots, because moss itself grew without roots. That sort of love had no past to complicate things. It grew, and loved, and was.

  We passed a wellspring that seeped through a tiny doorway in a hill, framed with logs and lichen. Later, the trail’s zig zag of decent placed a stream in our path, where a mosh pit of water droplets and rough rocks made a hullabaloo around our chosen picnic spot. The Festival trees had sent us off with peanut butter and rowanberry jam sandwiches. We feasted, while a red admiral butterfly sunned itself above a pool of water spiders, whose legs made vine-shadows on the underwater rocks.

  Later still, we entered an amphitheater valley designed for frog and bird harmonic concerts. The river song presented the perfect mixture of tones, fit for forest goddesses. I felt lucky to hear such glory. I wanted to keep walking to see each new wonder around every bend. I wanted to stay still to appreciate the wonders where we already were. Pause or press on. The mountains were full of dilemmas.

  Leaves along our path blew, though no breeze passed us. A forest spirit smiled into the corner of my eye as it continued its survey of the land.

  My face pressed against one of those strong spider webs. I stopped and backed up. She sat in the center of the trail, feeling her strings for food. Puddle waved his hand below her web, and it stayed still. Safe. We thanked her for wonderful weavings, and ducked below her web to continue onward.

  Mountains were tricky. Each time we thought we were reaching a peak, we found more ascent around the corner. Down was the same. Mountains did what they wanted. Most of the time, however, the deer highway meandered in a way that we encountered few unnecessary changes in elevation.

  Sunset in the mountains dragged on like falling rocks. We reached a peak just in time to see the sun dip behind the elevated horizon.

  “We should find shelter in case of bears or rain,” I whispered.