There is no end to writing about wood fairies. Writing about the spirit of the forest and the life it holds. In the big scheme of things it may not matter. I don’t know whether I’ll be good at this or not, but I feel compelled to try.

I think there is a war going on that our side is largely unaware we are waging. What matters more is that this war is harming something important — a host, an ally, a source of knowledge and connection to the rest of this rock we live on, flying through the vacuum of space. We are not alone. The aliens people imagine are all around us. Trees, forest spirits, weird hippy stuff like that.

I’m surprised to find myself thinking this way. I always assumed the world was there for me — as a human — to farm, manipulate, restructure, and reorganize as I saw fit. I would cut down the tree I wanted to use. If a tree got in the way of my plans, I wouldn’t think twice. Firewood, lumber, burn piles — all of it without a second glance.

I always made fun of the hippy tree huggers who felt sad about the fate of a tree. Probably made fun of them because they seemed spineless and weak — but perhaps that was just the leftover arrogance of someone who had more faith in his own abilities than in anyone else’s. Seriously flawed.

So now, my friends the trees. How do I expand on this idea in a way that would make a meaningful contribution — not just another book about trees, but something that actually gets people to think twice before cutting one back?

My instinct is to present it as fantasy. Something with drawings. Touch the aesthetic side of a person even while the message is a little fantastical. Small scale thoughts as a kid, larger scale as the kid grows.

The character I keep coming back to is Thatcher Barnswallow — a young swallow who decides to walk at ground level for a while. Wants to be connected to the earth and the creatures that move through it. The leaves, the pine cones, the frogs, the trees. Through this slow journey, Thatcher experiences something he never could from the air.

A swallow doesn’t destroy a forest. In that sense the awareness serves a different purpose than it would for a human. So at the end — Thatcher lands on a person’s shoulder for just a moment. Long enough to make that person start to wonder.

That might be the whole circle:

The restlessness.

The setting off.

The encounters with others and the discovery of how much more there is.

The understanding of what things actually mean.

The sharing of that knowledge in your own unique way.

I don’t know where this goes yet. For now I’m just writing.