Should one of the creatures with the ability to decipher these very written words visit the place in which the following story unfolds they would surely find nothing spectacular. The bland tranquil openness would most likely be of little interest, and the upon digestion of the scene the spectator might condense it in the rather unexciting verbal epitome of “Yard.”   However, for the seeing eye the area was buzzing with life, and the colours blended in spectacular tapestry. The other senses were tickled with the odours mixing in perfumed fragrance, and the humming of a beautiful symphony played by a cross section of instruments of Nature that filled the space. “Preposterous!” the reading and speaking creature might exclaim, but one mustn’t speak too soon, for it is not Nature who is mute but Man who is deaf. Unfortunately, for the Yard even a slight sensibility to listening would make no difference here, for every time Man came to the Yard he came with such a being-penetrating, air-shaking, ground-rattling, and roaring companion that nothing could be heard at all.

On this particular sunlit day all Life was going lazily about its business. Golden spring sunlight basked the quiet community serenely. Through the Yard the yellow of the dandelions sparkled in the light, the green of the grass vibrated, and the young sprouts stretched their leaves in ambition of reaching the lofty height of their wooden parents. All manner of vegetation hummed quietly in this wide-open space that benefited from near unobstructed sunlight. The variety of plants created a beautiful mosaic, a multi-colored palette spread across the Earth.

Like paintbrushes adding lively accents where they went were bumbling bees smelling the flowers, ants building monumental mounds to the divinity of this Eden, mosquitos whizzing around, and centipedes settling for cool naps under stones and fallen branches. Here and there were critters scrounging about, squirrels chased each other playfully, a young rabbit chewed on the grass, a well-liked toad relaxed in the warmth. The whistling of birds floated accompanied by the song of the wind which carried on its notes flying motes of pollen, gentle pilgrims taking the big step of departing the safety of the stamen to find a place of their own, the place they would live out the rest of their lives.

The serene hum of the place was first disturbed by a hectic bee whom by virtue of greater travel and sensory ability than the average plant, and by that of circumstance, suddenly found herself thrust into the role of sentinel. She came careening over the Yard with an urgent hum of alert. On she flustered over the flowers and amongst the ferns bringing her news. Like the slow changing tides the calm vibration of the Yard began to change and mirror that of the hectic bee. Soon the news was confirmed as the plants began to feel it too. They felt their roots quake from a far off but impending rumble that shook the ground.

Fear blanketed the Yard like the early morning dew. None grasped yet what was to happen, but there was a clear sense of danger. A clamour of worried cries of plants rose up. There was the quivering of the dandelions, the dazed fright of the grass, and the confused weeping of the young sprouts that did not understand what was happening. The trees gave off but hums of anger and raging helplessness for they knew what was about to happen.

The earth rumbled more violently with each passing instant shaking ants off their mounds and sending them plummeting. The shaking was accompanied with a growing roar that slowly drowned out the song of the birds and the hysteric conversations of the low canopy. Then those creatures blessed with eyesight saw what was coming. At the entrance of the Yard came Man towering menacingly over all the insects and critters, and most of the plants. A great machine that roared infernally armed with a deadly blade that spun under its heavy metal carcass preceded him. Suffocating black smoke spewed from the side of the machine. Man engaged into the open space. The wheels of the machine called “Mower” crushed the comparatively feeble plants over which they passed, but they were the lucky ones, for those who passed between the wheels were shredded out of existence, their panicked cries only faintly perceived through the tumult.

Now panic spread like wildfire through the Yard. The plants had no eyes; they could not see what was happening. They could only attempt to decipher the panicked and equally confused vibrations that emanated from the whole Yard. However from one direction came voices that would hysterically shriek in urgency, and then quickly fall into terrifying silence behind the advancing roaring unknown.

Quickly quickly! Up went fleeing swarms of resting insects and pollen before Mower creating great brown clouds that Man regarded with bored distaste as he advanced. Most fled, but some tried to fight back. Heroically a small squadron of mosquitos rallied in the panic, turned, and fell on Man. Some were crushed by his immense hands, but most managed to get to his skin. To their horror however, Man was coated in some awful chemical mixture that was devastatingly powerful against the mosquitos’ resolve. Most flew off without daring to bite into what they smelled as death. Those who did attack retreated only to die slowly shortly thereafter. The critters knew better, and simply ran off in all directions. Butterflies desperately tried to fly away with the speed their fragile wings permitted them, but some fell under Mower’s relentless march. Unfortunately, Toad did not shake his chilled out lethargy quickly enough, and he became nothing but a fleeting gruesome variation of Mower’s shredding sound.

Fallen branches that had not yet been given proper funerals by the fungi undertakers were shredded in devilish cacophony and shards were shot out in every direction mortifying the witnesses. Among the chaos of the massacre came some courage however. One quaint and happy Dandelion who had lived a full life seeing her head go from blond to white, and who had been preparing to send her offspring into the world resolved not to be so easily defeated. As Mower approached her she remained strong and comforted her children while trying to hastily finish their education. With loving reassurance she loosed her grip on their hands, and as Mower ploughed into her and broke her body she used the momentum of her own fall to propel her pollen above the danger. From the ground she sent out a final burst of calming maternal loving energy to the frightened and alone children above her before she was annihilated.

The surrounding trees big enough to be safe from Mower howled in anger, pleaded in sorrow as they sensed their terrified newborns be cut down right next to them as they were week after week, year after year. Some of them had low hanging branches that they vengefully hooked into Man, slightly inconveniencing his advance and in some cases even tearing his skin a little bit.

These were the spiteful younger trees who had the survival of this terror fresh in mind and whose low limbs still hung in reach of Man’s destructive path. Man angrily broke some of the limbs that attacked him such. The older Trees knew, and simply watched. The rebellious fire that had boiled the sap in their youthful branches had cooled as they had  attained these new heights in the canopy. They certainly did not enjoy seeing their young be slaughtered every year, but they had learned to accept that there was nothing they could do.

They lived under a speciesist feudalistic system under which self proclaimed Lord Man could arbitrarily decide the Life or Death of any in the realm. His laws were brutal, and it seemed he despised variety. Lord Man’s fury fell the hardest on the Dandelions. They rebelliously flaunted their vivid colours, and refused to remain subdued. The Lord hated this insurrection, so much so that he often came out with the sole purpose of ripping the dandelions out of the land with a machine, or sometimes even by hand, before leaving them to slowly dry on nearby pavement as an example for the others. He much preferred the servitude of the common blade of grass, which despite its militaristic name was quite tame and harmless.  The Elder Trees had tried to plead with Man, but he never paid heed. Not only was the incessant screaming of Mower barraging the airwaves, but for some reason Man seemed fond of wearing circular shaped things over his ears in which it was gathered there came sounds that Man called “Music”. The Elders were baffled by this concept, especially seeing how the “Music” sounded to them exactly like the sound of Mower, but sometimes punctuated with screaming or rhythmic thumps.

Often Lord Man seemed to operate with a complete lack of sense. Some trees or species had been arbitrarily granted the license of Life, while he kept the heel of his green grass blood stained shoes hard on the stems of the rest of his subjects. Worse still, the license to life could be revoked at any time. Man sometimes came with different noisemaker than Mower to randomly sever the limbs of trees, or sometimes cut them down all together before severing the corpses to many pieces. The inhabitants of the Yard and the nearby Trees could do nothing but watch this barbarism in mute horror. In face of such violence some Elders had long since abandoned trying to use the gentler branches of diplomacy and negotiation.

And so it went. Under the sad branches of those with the apparent license to live unfolded the massacre of the Yard. The shrieks of panic quieted gradually as less and less plants remained and critters fled as far as possible. Behind Mower was left an homogenous equal height slaughter field in which the ever resilient grass and surviving plants would regrow, surrounded by severed limbs that in some cases had once been their own. Some young flexible Ferns had been able to bend under Mower and stand back up again after its blows, but they were torn and frayed and would be forever awfully scarred, if they survived. They were a terribly sorry sight. The surviving plants avoided humming to them as if unable to face such damage, and the Ferns themselves knew their state and said nothing either.

The Sun was now well in the West, and the light had fluctuated from golden to red. As this dramatic light hit the scene Mower finally stopped his violent maddening rambling, apparently satiated. Man took a second to look around. From one end of the Yard to the other was the subdued uniformity that had been decreed by Lord Man as being perfection. The whole area was basked in a moribund silence, even the birds had departed and none of the few surviving plants dared hum a single note.

As Man stood there resting after the afternoon’s exertion he did something he had not done since the beginning of his actions here: he thought. He looked around, and he felt some vague feeling pestering him.

The Elders noticed and quickly tried to open dialogue. Man felt something like an emptiness inside, or perhaps it was just light-headedness. He could not quite put his finger on it. In the recesses of his being was a jumbling of what could perhaps have been called nausea, guilt, pressure, or melancholy, but it was still quite undefined. He looked on with puzzlement at the field of slaughter, and then suddenly his face relaxed as though he had resolved his dilemma.

Man turned to a nearby container, and from it pulled a cold cylindrical object. The “Pscht” sound it made as he opened it and the following gulping filled the stiff silent air. The gulping continued for sometime. The Elders watched on anxiously trying to devise what this unpredictable creature was doing and wondering if their pleas had been heard in this rare moment of contemplation.

Man lowered the can and burped loudly across the Yard. The cool beer swiftly spread a warm fuzzy feeling across his body that made him obsolete to that empty space he had felt, and quickly squashed any meanderings of thought. Satisfied, Man flashed a grin as he tossed his near empty can carelessly into the nearby foliage bruising an Elder. As he began leaving with Mower Man stopped to wave at his Neighbour who had in turn come out to impose the law on his land.

The silence had lasted for what seemed like a breath before rattling mechanistic vibrations filled up the air again, this time coming from the Yard across the street. The Elders looked on grimly from their high viewpoints at their same pain being distributed to others. So it was all day, everyday. There was always some massacre occurring somewhere. Men had come to this place and destroyed Nature in order to enjoy its tranquility. Then they ruined the tranquility with this constant staggered relay of racket making in which they satiated their true desire for being out here, to dominate. The paradox of Man’s actions was a topic that even the wisest and Eldest philosophizing Trees had pondered for hundreds of years with no success. Across the world behind their mossy beards these Wisest of Elders could still express nothing but silent bafflement on the actions of Men when delegations of younger trees came upon them seeking help to deal with the massacres at home.

Finally the sounds of massacre across the neighbourhood died down as the Sun set. Night crept in, and the Yard began to speak again. The shock wore off, and the survivors hummed mournfully to each other. The night critters and bugs came out, and activity began to flow anew. The Moon brought her soft silvery light to rest as balms on the wounds of the plants, dew brought the injured a welcomed sip of water, and as always Life begun anew. The Trees offered words of comfort, and encouraged the younglings. The Elders had not the courage to tell the young what they knew: that Man would be back after the Sun visited seven times as he had for countless Suns, and that the younglings had no chance of ever reaching their dreams and the relative safety provided with the bulkiness of wooden trunks and lofty heights.

The night unfolded under the Moon’s sympathetic gaze in this curious moist mixture between mourning and hopeful morning. The recovery and restoration of the Yard began anew as it always had, fed by photosynthesis of the hopes that one day stubborn Lord Man might walk his realm without Mower or “Music” to rest, to sit, to think maybe, and hopefully to listen.