There must be silence...

It must be lovely to be a tree, eternally spread eagle, reaching towards the heavens, with calm, sturdy arms of oak or maple or perhaps cedar or ash.
As the sun glimmers through the green fronds of her hair, whispered laughter echoes in her branches.
She is in love, with mere existence. She loves the universe, the way a cloud melts into the warm skies... Her breath dissolves. She submits to the light, to the love, to the atmosphere. She loves completely, content.
She melts softly for her maker, the way a midsummer rain falls heavy and hot. She swells in the moisture, feasts on the water and the soil that sustain her. Soon, she is satiated.
Her roots cord within the cool earth, gather closer to her. They intertwine, like fingers clasping in respite over decades, as she considers all.
I would love to understand the solemn, slow sentient wisdom of the tree.
We mortals must be nothing but a blur to them, over centuries of chaos. There must be silence, there must be peace....