
A coward is not the one who remains standing when bombs are falling. A weakling harms that which cannot run. With their entire network of being, the trees cannot run from bombs and firing squads. The roots remain rooted. The trunks remain standing, chest forward. The branches do not shrink from their widespread arms—let me hug you, you whose heart is veined by greed and hate. You may bring your war to trees, but it is your courage that dies. Recall the ginkgo tree that survived the atomic bombing in 1945? It survived radiation, lightning, and even typhoons. It did not die yesterday and did not die today. It just wants a kind place to be. Who is brave enough to give it? Who is tall enough to say, “From the cruelty that befell me, I shall give you peace.” Not the one who breezes cruelty in the clouds as a peaceful intervention. Not the one who can outrun the roots. Not the one who keeps harming sister and brother leaves. The trees know relentless uprooting and bombing too. Their pride is to root for the return of their owners. Muted as you might think, they are the librarians on land. They archive stories of many generations. When you despair, they teach you how to resist hate with saplings. When you tire, they lend a lesson of persistence in drought. Seek counsel with baobabs, olives, gingkos, and acacias. Too many wars, too many fallen trees, and so much courage wasted. For what? Will a spoon of olive oil reason the heart? Will a ginkgo bar cleanse the intent to retaliate? Will the acacia thorns acupuncture on the chronic fears? Will the baobab juice prompt wisdom? Will any tree product manage the appetite for weapons? Give yourself up to trees. Give yourself a hug from a tree. Lay your weapons down, and the roots will help you bury that cowardice. Lay your war down, and the trees will save you from the cracking lands.