I was taught the language of trees from a very young age. From the billowing of branches to the howling wind, my mother took me through every word and its meaning. After she died, I continued my studies. It was challenging without her, but like the women before me, I never backed down from a challenge.

Through many restless nights, I poured through books and grimoires. Potions fueled my energy and kept my eyes from closing. On the fifth rising of the moon, I paced back and forth from the kitchen to my study.

“Did I seriously lose the mushroom extract again?” I groaned. My eyes swept over every inch of the kitchen, my frustration increasing with each drawer opened until it boiled over. When I recognized the bottle that has been in my hands the entire search as the mushroom extract, I let out an annoyed sigh.

“What is wrong with me?”

I quickly made another potion to clear my mind. Then another. Until my mind numbed and red veins bulged in my eyes. Until I felt something wrap around my wrist.

A vine.

It snaked through the open window, traveled across my study, and reached out to me. Gently, it tugged me toward the moonlight, like a mother guiding a confused child. I attempted to pull back against this gentle force, but the vine strengthened its hold on me, and I had no choice but to follow it.

Then the whispers came.

Flickers of a message filtered through the howling wind. They floated around me like a warm blanket, swept through the strands of my hair. I peered below my window to see a small cluster of pink roses blooming from the earth. The vine that took me had emerged from the entanglement of stems, now caressing my cheek.

I reached down and touched its gentle petals, smooth as the finest silk. My mother loved all of nature equally, but she always had some kind of pink plant around the house. I did my best to keep them in full bloom after her passing.

“I hate seeing you like this,” the wind passed to my ears.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Sleep depraved. Desperate to enrich the knowledge passed to you so long ago.”

“I don’t want to forget her.”

“I know. But do you know why it always rains saltwater?”

“Yes.”

“So stop doing this to yourself. Go to bed.”

I remained standing. The vine shoved me back.

When I reluctantly listened, I watched the stars blink at me. The thin branches flowed like hair. And the crescent moon formed a content smile.