My Choice (Part 4 of 5)

Eventually the cropping came to an end and our chatter, which had been stifled by harvesting activity, built up again with much speculation about the destinations of those which had been cut down.  The landscape had been scarred by the heavy harvest machines but the hillside would recover.  The pheasants and partridges and all the other birds returned from their brief sanctuary.  Our companion continued his daily walking and, in the absence of other people, resumed his muttering.
A while ago, the trees around his home chattered about one of us being taken inside where it was decorated with lights and round glass balls and all sorts of shiny things taken from a battered old box.  People looked at it and smiled; some put wrapped boxes at the bottom and everyone seemed happier because of this splendid garlanded tree.  The tree was there for celebration and was the focus of much delight.  The chatter was that, after a few weeks, it was taken outside and given back to nature.  It seemed a wonderful way for that tree to fade away.  It is the way I would wish to fade away.  It is the way I will fade away.  I have decided.
On my chosen day, after the machines have gone but before the shortest day, my dog walker came up the hill; perhaps plodding more than usual.  I marshalled all my fibres and focused on making a connection with him.  It was hard, he seemed particularly pre-occupied that morning.  I tried harder but didn’t seem to get through.  This was not good; this was not supposed to happen.