In times past, folk gathered at the brandyoak to bleed its bark and drink its sap. The fortunate few would receive visions from the gods of the old wood that pierced the veil of time into days yet to come. The cycle of the seasons, the bounties of the crop, and the looming threats of wars and plagues. The folk saw them all long before they came to pass. And yet, many would not live to see it. So they would warn their children, and their children, of what was to come. Time and time again, the warnings were ignored as the drinkers passed into memory. Calamities befell the folk that could have been averted. As the years flew by, the brandyoak found itself forgotten, the folk long departed.
A vision the folk did not heed came generations later. In the woods outside the city, the young gather to drink of the brandyoak’s sap. High as clouds they get, and in their frivolity they see what is to come. The broken cycle of the seasons. The withering of the crop. And they know not if they will be heard by their parents, let alone their children.
Paddy Dobson
17th July 2021