Ah, a conspiracy emerges! Good point. It could be hippies. Some of those Woodstock hold overs. Or lizzad people. It could be lizzad people! But, you know, now that I think on it. It is most likely a coalition of woke, hippie, transgender, sasquatch's!
Nawwwww – ain’t that at all!
It’s the Curly Koa Hamadryads!
It’s a hedonic tale of unrequited love. One evening while passing by a tree, you will hear a sigh. It will seem that the tree could speak! You might feel your knees go weak. Like a siren’s song, the whisper causes you to linger and lay down upon the shaded ground. It will be as if that tree had cast a spell on you! But it is not the tree! With words of poetry, you will be wooed. Leaves brush over your tingling skin, and you might even tremble deep within. You have just ensnared yourself into the intricate web of intimacy woven by the wanton, libertine Dryad of Curly Koa! – a three-thousand-year-old wood nymph who eats men’s souls.
Bewitched from the moment you set eyes on her. Her long, slender trunk trails past the ivy and moss that enrobes her sinewy steel-gray bark. You are mesmerized observing the shadows brushing across the supple undulations of her well-muscled trunk, teasing you with the promise of good things that hide beneath. You stare past the ends of her branches, brown and bushy, waiting to bud. You can sense the moon, dripping its pale liquid light over the forest pool creating a pool of golden pleasure. Her shining reflection kisses the waters of the pools edge – the water understands. There is the overwhelming scent of damp soil and decaying leaves that pervades your very essence. In the quietness and cold of the night, there are no leaves to make music – only the teasing, almost bare branches that seem like daggers to the soul. They tell a story of a forlorn heart, much like a bride’s, that desires to live in a state of love and free of the burdens she has borrowed. ‘Let’s live here,’ you might be able to gasp out! She becomes the fondest evocation of nascent spring – the wood nymph wild!
However, this is Woodbarter, and you might ask; “Why all this passionate nonsense?” Why would you get lured into a woodland glade only to be seduced and enraptured, you ask? Has not the exact thing happened to hundreds, if not thousands of men? There is but one answer – Existence. Without the life source that she finds in woodworking men, she cannot exist. On her own, her soul lacks, she does not possess tranquility – she desires something and only nature has it! Nature could have given her everything she could have ever wanted, but…..full of desire, she has to reach out and capture. Each capture is not eternal, though. When they ask for a beer, flop down in the recliner, she knows another night is over before is has begun. The rot sets in and no amount of resin can make it solid once again.
When y’all finally settle in and are free of all the distractions of modern life, y’all will have a serious talk about forest conservation. She will deem it most important that you know that her interest aligns with the fact that cutting down trees releases the souls she’s trapped inside them, thus depleting the source of her immortal life force. You see, she is not just a normal, human girl who cares very much about trees and doesn’t possess the power to summon the dark creatures of the forest to do her bidding. She might put her soft, luminous skin on one leg at a time each morning just like the next girl -but……
It’s happened to me 17 times already!!
Now wasn’t that better than a boring story about tree-huggers?
