Letter to a Termite

Dear Termite,

As with most of you secondary invaders, you are attracted to weakened, damaged and dying trees and, therefore, have little fault in your invasion of me. And then again, this brittle bark holds some bitterness yet.

Do not think I plead for your sympathy or strive to make any justification in my fall, but I've stood alone for so long; with no others plants or shrubs to console or help withstand, I took the brunt of a storm that left me vulnerable. The constant weight of wind plucking my leaves and breaking my branches cracked me open, caused me to wonder at the sight of myself falling to pieces.

Even you felt the storm and wind and needed shelter; it's a miracle and a condemnation that the hurricanes did not merely whisk you away. So, at the first touch of your buggy bones I shuttered with shock, welcoming in any creature, for I had seen none for days and days; and there we were, two entirely different organisms, seemingly as one. I could not help but smile sometimes, when I thought of enveloping you, keeping you safe, as I continued to be thrashed by wind and rain. I guess I was still alone then, in spite of you being in my creases and corners, feeding your appetite. But it is just hard when you have not seen a tree in days--it even causes one to settle for a termite.

Do not take offense when I speak of merely settling, dear termite, for you have your place among your own. It's just a tree and a termite do not do well together; well, unless you are the termite, for the termite doesn't have to do any losing, only gaining.

And I rejoiced for a time with you in my bark; I even dared hope that you were there solely for shelter. But, instead of shaking you off, whispering to the wind to just blow you away, I bathed in self-destruction and allowed you to stay; not only did I continue breaking apart on the outside, but quickly, I saw, that my innards easily became dust with you near.

And you were fat and happy and greedy; and I increasingly became a mere stick, torn apart and with nothing to give.

Hopping away, you looked back, for the initial coldness and cruelty of the wind came as a surprise to you, and called to this hallow tree to let you back in. I relented, for it was hard to see you go, in spite of your eating me alive.

And then I suspected: if a tree were to ever feed on termites you would not have sought shelter with me; if this parasitism were reversed, I knew you would quickly flee.

I shook and shuttered and quaked in anger, found that I had strength yet. And you left, for you realized I would no longer allow you to make sawdust out of me.

The wind still beats, but I've found within in me an invincible spring. I will not fall.

Love,
The Tree