
1.
In the small town where I live, there is a man who hugs trees. He is a normal looking, fit, late thirties, white male. He has a neatly trimmed beard, short brown hair and wears an ironed button down shirt neatly tucked into his blue jeans. It would be easy to mistake him for a professional person if he was not spending his days hugging trees.
I often see him out of the corner of my eyes hugging a tree as I pass by in my car or on a bike. I become puzzled. “What is he doing?” I wonder. He stands there with his legs spread and his arms wrapped wide around the neck of a tree with the side of his face resting against the bark. Sometimes his eyes are closed and sometimes they are opened- but there is always a crescent moon smile upon his face. He often reminds me of a child resting his head against his mother’s breast.
While on one of my morning walks a week ago, I passed the tree hugger. He did not notice me and I was not so sure I wanted to be noticed by him. He was nicely dressed and serenely, he held the tree in the open embrace of his arms. It almost looked as if he was rocking the tree back and forth, as if he was trying to help it fall asleep.
As I walked past him, curiosity overcame me like a tight net pulling me backwards. Before I understood what was happening- I found myself walking up to the tree hugger and asking him, “why are you always hugging trees?” with a tone that may have sounded slightly derisive. He turned his face to observe me and without dropping the smile he said, “After what human beings have done to this earth, the trees are scared. They think that they could be next. So I give them a hug and let them know that everything will be okay.” I thanked the man for providing me with such an informative answer and walked away.
2.
Later that afternoon I could not help but think about trees. I thought about all the trees that I have witnessed being cut down over the past few months. Two beautiful oak trees were cut down in my back yard and a tree was cut down in my front yard. Some trees were chopped down across the street from where I live and in the downtown area a whole row of trees has been eliminated. It seemed to me like trees had good reason to be afraid.
I watched the trees in my backyard, which seemed to shake. I found myself offering them consolation- without saying anything out loud. I would pet them with my hand or pat them on the back. On one of my morning walks I seemed to be overcome with a feeling I had never felt before- the strange urge to a hug a tree. But I resisted and kept repeating to myself, “No not me. No not me. I am not that man. I am sane and do not hug trees.”
A few nights ago I had a bad dream. I dreamt that I, a harmless man, had a huge chain saw in my hand. For whatever reason, my dream consisted of me in a psychotic state, cutting down dozens of trees with yellow sap all over my body and face. Every tree I saw I cut down and I laughed and laughed as they fell. Nothing but piles of fallen, bloody trees in my path- until I awoke covered in sweat.
3.
I hug trees when no one is around (but in our overpopulated world it is almost impossible to avoid being seen). I make sure I dress nicely so as to look professional, so as not to be confused with someone who may be insane. I tuck my shirt into my jeans and comb my hair. If someone comes up to me I know exactly what I will say. I will tell them that humans are destroying the earth and the trees are scared. When I hug a tree I try not to do it for too long, but I do it long enough to let the tree know that I care. I feel the warmth of its inner life against my face and when I lean my chest into the tree I can feel it’s rapidly beating heart. I hold the tree tightly in my arms, smile and whisper in its ear, “It’s okay. Shhhh. I’m here, don’t worry, I’m here.”
I decided to open the bird-cage and let my two yellow parakeets fly freely around the room. After spending so much time confined in their cage I thought this would be a delectable treat. I did not want to help them out- but rather gave them the autonomy to come out by their own volition. As the long time, faithful and concerned owner of these two birds- I felt as if I fulfilled my duty by opening the cage door. The rest was up to them.
I am suffering from a bad hangover. A very bad hangover. Not even a shower seemed to help. It feels as if I have been stuffed with bags of sand and implanted with a metallic heart. My chest hurts. I am having difficulty breathing because of a pain in my back. Walking a straight line takes effort and my gut feels like it contains the remnants of a battlefield. All last night I wrestled with sleep trying to pin it down. Instead, I kept awakening with irregular heartbeats, pulsating ears and a parched mouth. I was nauseous and had images in my head of funerals and jumping over a cliff. A pin or nail seemed to be sticking out the side of my left temple- causing me an unbearable ache . My wife, snoring away by my side, was at peace in the womb of a deep inebriated sleep. I on the other hand was struggling….paying for my night of fun.










