I was born into a world where nothing was real, real meaning mundane. I went under my bed, falling into another world where my thoughts became real. Imagination drifts for a while. I’m alone with no immediate sounds, only distant cars that are faint, imperceptible. Then I see the tree talk to me in images; some words are memories—positive hallucination to create a story with words. Maple leaves folded into forms to build dwellings for sprites and faeries, which include every conceivable tiny being. These fantasy stories can come to life. Traveling anywhere without physical limitations, imagination is the ticket. What is impossible materializes as a temporary escape from reality. These magical places are inhabited by people who become friends. I found their voice in things that don’t ordinarily talk. Trees and buildings have voices, longer life spans, and individual personalities—their life histories. In many worlds I entered, nothing is impossible again; magic and imagination rule.        

What if there was a world where trees were dominant over them for centuries would be considered decades? Imagine one century as one decade in their culture. I often ask myself what a tree is thinking. Some might consider that insane, but anything is possible. As an old saying goes, I don’t know where that came from. Think of a kind of reincarnation when it’s time a leaf falls from a tree. It decorates the ground with its colors. Eventually, it disintegrates, nourishing the soil and giving new saplings a chance to grow, then the whole process starts over again. Paintings or photographs probably inspired the illusion that fallen leaves are scattered.

I have discovered that fallen leaves are tiny parachutes. Leaves on the surface of the water keep the lake’s inhabitants protected. A building using stone is too heavy on these extremely thick leaves structures of wood. Layers upon layers of leaves thicken on the lake’s surface, keeping the inhabitants from sinking into the water below. These people living on the lake are rarely noticed because they are only two inches tall. A silent spiritual communication exists between trees and the lake. A creative way of imagining a story about fallen leaves and trees. Leaves falling into a pond of water continue to ripple as a poem or painting is imagined. A whole world is hidden beneath lives, unaware of the upper world. A bit of sunlight trickling in continues to nourish it. Disregarding reality, imagine what sort of fantasy could be written about that pond covered by leaves of many colors. Cities exist under the leaves; they could be small people or intelligent fish, snails, or creatures, or beings created from a wilder imagination. 

Conversations with a tree have become part of my life. I live within its branches, and an imaginary tree house is built, and it becomes my companion. The stems grew fast to support whatever I created on the tree; it generously insulated me from the summer’s cold nights or excessive heat. Parts of the tree start developing from the most prominent branches, not the wood. They resemble spidery mechanical arms constructed of metal sinew with glowing bubbles of light that keep my home in the trees insulated. How it grows inorganic things questions, I never answered. I have everything necessary for a comfortable life. There’s a viewing screen, it’s not connected to an electrical outlet, a stove working through fire and wood, and other electrical needs are provided through magic or unknown technology. No limitations exist to the worlds I visited and experienced; seeing things impossible in reality is powerful. 

I’ve felt that cypresses are saying something to me on a night of imagination, as in a van Gogh painting, “Road with Cypress and Star.” I dreamt of living in a cypress tree; it was huge. It could accommodate a two-room cubicle of two rooms, a living room, one bathroom, and a kitchen. Its foliage kept me secluded, although some parts were vegetation-free. An empire of giant cypresses across leagues of places. An elevator tube was used, but a ladder was the only way down during emergencies. The huge cypresses were flames that reached the heavens and aspired for the universe. The actual experiences and dreams in the imaginary world have always comforted me.