They put a net under the bridge, but that doesn’t stop the humans from jumping. They drive to the ridge above us and jump into the fog. Sometimes they change their minds, clawing at our branches and trying to hold on. The tallest in our family sees them first, transmitting the alarm down to our roots. We tug at our roots, wishing we could move closer. We bend as much as our branches allow. Touching, swaying, and interweaving. We try to hold the humans, though they are not our children. We try to hold the humans, but they always slip through.
Canopy
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