In the cool shaded light of dusk each plant and tree is returned to the secret garden. Abused, forgotten, and separated by force and necessity the green spirits are brought together once more. Covered in sweat, earth, and spider webs from my hard labour, I light the tobacco with a flame until the cherry red coal forms. I pull the smoke into my mouth without inhaling and then gently exhale suffusing all of the hungry plant spirits with ghostly grey clouds. I breathe out and they breathe in the offering of sacred tobacco smoke. Breathing in the burnt fumes of plants, we are one. I apologize for their mistreatment and tell them the hard times are now over. No more will they be hidden under tarps or shoved in dark corners.
The clouds of smoke billow and swirl through the leaves and up into the fading light of eventide. Winged termites dance and spiral around each other in the air above me like tiny winged fairies who feast on decaying plants and excrement. I find them lovely and sweet; little winged messengers of trees. They look beautiful from afar, but like a creature from a dark Guillermo del Toro fairy tale up close. Fat with fresh water and the smoke of tobacco and the green lady, the plants are pleased. They know it wasn’t my choice. All is well now.
How I missed our evening and midnight communions this year; plants turned dark and mysterious beneath the moon and stars. It shall be so again. There is still a little summer left on the mountain.
My gifted green man finally finds his home above the wild strawberries watching over the garden. He quickly slips out of his skin and into the deep green of the garden itself. The sun sinks beneath the earth and I say farewell to my green spirits and step back inside to wait for my man to come home.
