Written from the perspective of the Faerie Tree outside Ball Hall on the campus of the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, Virginia.

Something feels different, and I don’t just mean the weather. That’s been changing for a little while now, though I think my humans have not been as aware as I. They don’t seem too capable of thinking and judging from their roots, so, I’ve noticed, they often miss the early signs of the seasons changing. Their apex is clearly not close enough or deep enough. It seems a strange way to be, but they seem to make it work. Still, I’ll keep my deep roots and my nature-hearing over their mobility and speed, thank you very much.

But something else feels different. It’s too quiet here. More of them are usually passing by every hour than I’ve seen these last few weeks. In fact, no one has come to visit me or chat with my faeries. But it isn’t the quiet season yet, so I do not understand where they have all gone. It’s warmer now, and by this time, they are beginning to find their places in the field outside this building. They take their . . . books, I believe they are called . . . and their metal man-eaters and spend their afternoon hours reading and tapping. Sometimes in clusters and sometimes alone, but always many. They seem to prefer the grass over the support ledges that have been placed for them, even if they do refuse to bury their stalks. And sometimes they run and throw some sort of round disc. I like to watch that because they laugh, and it ripples on the wind through my leaves and tickles. But it also feels like an embrace.

But now they are not here, and I do not understand why they have stopped emerging and laughing and finding the sun.