Dryad

You stoke your fires, you quarry your stone. You move things that had no plans to move. You release the Earth into a more perfect subservience. You are agents of its hardening.

We are the dryads, agents of softening, drinking sunlight, and dispersing the soil. Perhaps we too are enforcing some kind of strangeness upon the bedrock, but we were doing it long before you were.

There was a time, I think, when we worked well together. But your integrity does not leave much space for being, for breathing, for play.

At some point, we may see this place consumed, and we will be consumed with it. If that is our fate, so be it… we will play our part.