__ I’m not sure how long the shrub had been alive before it
began to walk, I’d never really paid much attention, but I distinctly remember
the first time it uprooted itself. I was out the back reading a book when I
heard the rustling of the bushes; it sounded like a tornado was passing through
my yard. I glanced over to see the shrub pull its first root from the ground
and shake away the loose soil. It repeated this process several times before it
was completely free from the earth. I was kind of shitting myself at that stage;
I’d studied the Day of the Triffids in high
school; I didn’t fancy getting killed by a plant. From its first shaky steps
the shrub quickly learned to use its multiple uneven roots. After about 15
minutes the shrub had absolutely no trouble navigating around the backyard. The
shrub could sense me as it came closer to my chair; it approached cautiously,
as if it had seem me trim the hedge. It actually seemed quite friendly though –
I couldn’t read any expressions or anything but I could feel the shrub’s good
energy. It leant against my leg and caressed me with its soft leaves like a snuggling
cat. I rustled its branches a little, just softly; I don’t know why, it just
seemed like the right thing to do. After about an hour or so the shrub returned
to the hole and resettled in the dirt. This routine went on almost daily until
yesterday when I found the shrub lying lifeless alongside the garden chair. I’m
not sure what caused its death but I’m really going to miss the companionship. Today
I sat in the chair but I just couldn’t concentrate on my book. I kept thinking
what a great species the shrub had been and that there’ll never be another one like
it. I wonder how many amazing one-off evolutionary sprouts have just never had
the chance to reproduce.