A pulse ran through the forest and out through the canopy of trees. Light, at its brightest here, the Wimba tree, wide leaves, and the lightest of trunks. Reaching towards the sun in a bid to grow tall.
A flight of parrots, soared above the canopy, their colourful flight illuminating the sun’s rays even further. The pulse, louder this time, and all the trees shuddered. Man’s machine. Crash. Another ancient knowledge gone, another gap in the trees, but this time others fell with it.
Human kind, taking nature, and knocking it down to build farms – farms that would prove to be infertile. Farms, which refused to grow anything permanent in acidic soil.
As the pulse subsided, the rainforest breathed a sigh of relief. Each branch, a lowly shrub, glad of the reprieve. In mourning, a silence enveloped each living creature inside. A pattering of feet, as they tried to find a new home.
Writer Ravenclaw 
Sounds like a great place to grow blueberries. 🙂
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