Random Forest

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Abstract

s by murder hornets, predators who have no place here. A migration that nature would have vetoed. But one that two-legged predators permitted, even helped with no remorse. I took time for granted, just as I took him for granted. But this time, I can save us. You can.His stump lies in front of me. His body of bark greets one no more. Rings of wear display his age with pride. But at what cost? Why must my brother be reduced to cinders to fuel your homes? Fuel your lust for a sense of progress that you are not entitled to? Is a tree not entitled to the amber sap of his design? The fruit of his labor?What are weeds but rebellious blades of green that serve not their rulers? What are flowers but things of appeal that please the all-seeing eyes of our captors? Dictators of cold steel that reap our souls with scythes of malice. Axes hewed from the very corpses they produce. Hacking away at us until all that greet th

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e eye are stumps. Remnants of unbridled foliage that remember not a time free from captivity. Only spineless beings would coin a term that paves over what was once something else entirely; concrete jungles. Perhaps that is why books have spines. Fashioned from ours.We seek to create. To grow. To rise from ashes that belong to us. Soil into which you inject seed that only returns the favor. A relationship that reeks of toxicity. Plants twisted by conniving design. No longer wild. No longer free. Mixed and matched as though it were a game. Castrated, some no longer hold seed. Our brambles protect us. But your thorns sink into ours in greed, provoked merely by our existence. Our potential.You have always had the blessing of our people. One that has fallen and rose, just as kingdoms and empires have. I hope that it is not too late.Perhaps I may speak to you better as a book?</article></body>

One tree to another

As I pen this letter on the skin of my brethren, I fear for the future. Not for the old cycle that steals our leaves and grants them back to us, but for the tyrant who wishes to end them. The oppressor who leaves smoke and flames in his wake. Some call it an accident. Some call it recklessness. I call it genocide. The air is getting warmer. The bees who built their combs amidst my embrace are no more. Torn to shreds by murder hornets, predators who have no place here. A migration that nature would have vetoed. But one that two-legged predators permitted, even helped with no remorse. I took time for granted, just as I took him for granted. But this time, I can save us. You can.

His stump lies in front of me. His body of bark greets one no more. Rings of wear display his age with pride. But at what cost? Why must my brother be reduced to cinders to fuel your homes? Fuel your lust for a sense of progress that you are not entitled to? Is a tree not entitled to the amber sap of his design? The fruit of his labor?

What are weeds but rebellious blades of green that serve not their rulers? What are flowers but things of appeal that please the all-seeing eyes of our captors? Dictators of cold steel that reap our souls with scythes of malice. Axes hewed from the very corpses they produce. Hacking away at us until all that greet the eye are stumps. Remnants of unbridled foliage that remember not a time free from captivity. Only spineless beings would coin a term that paves over what was once something else entirely; concrete jungles. Perhaps that is why books have spines. Fashioned from ours.

We seek to create. To grow. To rise from ashes that belong to us. Soil into which you inject seed that only returns the favor. A relationship that reeks of toxicity. Plants twisted by conniving design. No longer wild. No longer free. Mixed and matched as though it were a game. Castrated, some no longer hold seed. Our brambles protect us. But your thorns sink into ours in greed, provoked merely by our existence. Our potential.

You have always had the blessing of our people. One that has fallen and rose, just as kingdoms and empires have. I hope that it is not too late.

Perhaps I may speak to you better as a book?

ENVIRONMENT

Random Forest

One tree to another