The Island of Missing Trees — Fig Tree Excerpt I
Life below the surface is neither simple nor monotonous. The subterranean, contrary to what most people think, is bustling with activity. As you tunnel deep down, you might be surprised to see the soil take on unexpected shades. Rusty red, soft peach, warm mustard, lime green, rich turquoise . . . Humans teach their children to paint the earth in one colour alone. They imagine the sky in blue, the grass in green, the sun in yellow and the earth entirely in brown. If they only knew they have rainbows under their feet.
Take a handful of soil, press it between your palms, feel its warmth, texture, mystery. There are more microorganisms in this small clod than there are people in the world. Packed with bacteria, fungi, archaea, algae and those wriggly earthworms, not to mention broken bits of ancient crockery, all working towards converting organic material into nutrients on which we plants gratefully feed and thrive, the earth is complicated, resilient, generous. Every inch of soil is the product of hard work. It takes a multitude of worms and microorganisms hundreds of years of ceaseless labour to produce even that much. Healthy, loamy dirt is more precious than diamonds and rubies, though I have never heard humans praise it that way.
A tree has a thousand ears in all directions. I can detect the munching of caterpillars as they eat holes in my leaves, the buzzing of passing bees, the chirring of a beetle's wing. I can recognize the soft gurgling of water columns breaking inside my twigs. Plants can pick up vibrations, and many flowers are shaped like bowls so as to better trap sound waves, some of which are too high for the human ear. Trees are full of songs and we are not shy to sing them.
— from The Island of Missing Trees, Elif Shafak
