i played in her branches when i was a kid. the apples were winter apples, their smell – refreshing and beautiful in the dark winter evenings.
i still come up to her, and put a hand to her bark, and talk. of how the world is made, and what sometimes happens, and just.. stuff. and sometimes i just stand there in silence. and more than a century of spring blossom, and summer green, and autumn windfalls, and winter patience is silent with me.
this is how an alien communicates with earth.