8th September 2021
The forest called a meeting. Karri took the chair (tall privilege), jarrah kept the minutes (steady handwriting), and wandoo brought snacks (controversial but crunchy). On the agenda: “Humans propose letting us grow old in peace.” A kookaburra seconded the motion, then laughed at its own procedural efficiency.
In Perth, Ranger Jess read the announcement on her phone and blinked away a happy tear. She’d spent years coaxing seedlings through heatwaves and the occasional kangaroo critique. “Good on ya,” she told a sapling, which is not weird if you do it quietly.
Not everyone understood straight up. Baz at the servo asked, “So… do trees get long-service leave?” Jess explained: harvesting ends from 2024, more forests protected, jobs shifting to softwood, Country respected. Baz nodded. “Righto. Long game.” He gave Jess a discount on a sausage roll (for Jess, not the tree).
Back under the canopy, the wind ran the numbers: more habitat, cooler shade, birds arguing melodically at 5 am. The motion carried with unanimous leaf-rustle. Even the cockatoos, notorious dissenters, approved—loudly.
Years later, Jess will tell school groups, “This was the day we chose patience.” The kids will squint upward, counting rings the trees haven’t grown yet. Somewhere a kookaburra will laugh again—less at the joke than the fact it gets to keep telling it. And the forest will keep the minutes, because the minutes are made of time.
* as depicted by AI - may not factually be correct